Noize
by Cheshire Kat24
Summary: "Tonight, gentlemen and ladies, heretics and faithful, sump dwellers and upper hive, bonded mechanoids and slag rats, tonight we bid you welcome. Tonight we bring you an epic tale of loyalists and the damned, of Chaos Warbands and Imperial Chapters, and of war. Endless burning war. Tonight, gathered scum, we bring the tales of Fulgrims scattered sons. Tonight, we bring the Noise."
1. Track 01: By the Fire

_**Noize **_

* * *

_"Gunfire in the street,_

_Where we used to meet,  
Echoes out a beat,_

_When the bass goes 'BOMB'"_

_-NIN , 'the good soldier'_

* * *

**Track 01: By the Fire**

"So what do we call the band?" Cornet asked, starting off innocently enough. His questions always started out simple, teasing their inquiree to make the next statement to draw his listener in. The Rhino rocked as the servitor guided it through charred alleys in the hive. Cornet reached out to steady himself. His HUD depicted a brief feed of the outside terrain of ruined streets and collapsed buildings.

"Do we need to call the band anything?" Lyre answered, already exhausted with the line of questioning, and his battle brother hadn't even gotten into his full sermon on the topic yet. His tone was devoid of emotion, much like the stoic neutral expression his helm maintained.

"Of course we need to call the band something. Without a name we're just a random useless rabble. Roaming and fighting just anyone. But with a name, with a name we become a collective, a force," Cornet was on a roll now.

From one of the top bunks in the Rhino came a groan, and an exhausted female face peered over the edge. "Would you two Noise Marines give it a rest for one day? Some of us mortals are trying to sleep."

Cornet glanced up at her, the expression on his helm equally as neutral as Lyre's. "Sorry Sonata, we'll keep it down."

Sonata pulled the covers over her head and resumed her slumber. Lyre wished that would be the end of it, but as predicted, Cornet began talking on the vox units in their helms.

"No really Lyre, this is important."

Lyre envied Sonata in that moment. It had been a rough week, and she had earned her rest. The Warsinger had taken a nasty shrapnel wound on her side. Fret, their resident tech adept, had done what he could to patch her up but she needed medical care soon. The band had arrived in this hive a week ago, accompanying a larger Warband of Chaos Marines. They had hoped to catch the Imperials off guard and unaware, and they would have succeeded too if the frakkers hadn't managed to summon the aid of an Imperial Guard fleet that had been traveling in the shadow of a Black Templar Battle Barge. They were now evacuating, heading for the shuttles and transports that would pull them away from this cursed rock and to the safer folds of the warp. All Lyre wanted to do was load up his armor with stims along with a few other drugs of choice, and let his mind check out for the remainder of the journey.

As always, Cornet had not wound down yet, and he wanted to talk. His favorite topic was what to call this little Warband. They didn't have much, and Lyre would never have classified it as a "Warband" to begin with. Four Noise Marines: Lyre, Cornet, Elision, and Crasis. One Warsinger: an ex-Sororitas named Sonata, and Fret along with his three servitors, whom they had affectionately named Low Note, Off Key, and Dead Beat. Together they spent a moment of quiet in the back of the Rhino, either lost in their own thoughts or like Sonata, attempting to sleep off the fatigue of the past week.

"Toserian already took the best name we could have chosen," Lyre snapped, and instantly regretted it. Cornet grew quiet and withdrawn as that name settled between them. Lyre shared in that pain, that sting, the shame that hovered between them like a ghost. Cornet pulled his weapon, Forsworn, a little closer, protectively almost.

"Kakaphony was a good name. But for all the wonders of the Eye you couldn't make me run with that pack of wolves again," instead of returning to his thoughts Cornet spoke. "Which is why _we_ need a good name, something to strike the same kind of fear and recognition in our enemies."

_And something to erase our shame,_ mused Lyre. Both he and Cornet had been members of the Kakaphony, the largest band of Noise Marines lead by none other than Captain Toserian. They had survived many brutal campaigns, fought many worthy foes from all over the galaxy and the Eye. And under Toserian's scrutinizing glare, had made their pacts with the demoness' now at their side. Unconsciously, Lyre's hand ran lovingly over his own weapons strings. Just the presence of Red Widow soothed him, and it was no mystery as to why. Sealed within that shell of adamantium and wraithbone, clutched in the clawed hands of a demoness, was his own soul.

One million souls had been the pact. One million souls in exchange for the power of the Warp and an understanding of how to use it. And until Lyre could pay Red Widow her one million souls, she held his own as collateral. She had pulled his soul from his body, leaving him as an empty shell, hollow and nearly emotionless, a perfect gatherer to feed her appetites.

At first they had been lives, at first they had been faces, at first they had all been worthy foes, with individual names and status, rank and honors. Each soul morsel had been lovingly prepared and offered up on the altar of Red Widows ego, plated with a side of blood and fear then chased down her gullet with a deep draw of madness.

But now,

Now they were only tally marks, another series of notches in an already ruined blade. A literal buffet of Space Marines—Imperial and Chaos alike—Eldar, Orks, Tau Fire Warriors and yes even a few Tyranid Hive Tyrants. All had been spread before the glutton to wallow in. Never satisfied, never grateful for the feast before her, always demanding more to pad out her already ample curves.

Every time Lyre closed his eyes he saw her, she swam through his dreams, teasing him with new powers and pleasures, yet always demanding that price. Drugs numbed her calls and caresses, made him feel that he was his own man again and not some puppet tied to her whims. In battle they were as one, In battle all of her powers became his, and in those moments he could forgive and even love her. Appreciate her magnitude and intelligence, revel in her voice as it ripped up streets and turned their foes to pulp. And then the battle would be over, and there she would sit at the back of his mind, taunting him, degrading him, demanding more, and Lyre would keep chasing the thrill of battle, sometimes to feel bonded with her once more, sometimes to get Red Widow to stop bitching for a few minutes.

If Cornet ever felt the same about Forsworn, he never mentioned it. Cornet always had that idiots grin of a man that had accepted that he was damned and he might as well enjoy his life while it lasted. Lyre knew his brother felt as empty as he did. He could see the hollowness behind Cornets amber colored eyes, knew that the jokes he told were just for show to make it seem that he hadn't lost everything. Together they had run from Toserian, run from the Kakaphony, felt the tears of shame drying on their cheeks as they left the remnants of their once mighty Legion behind.

Even though Lyre sometimes dreamed about marbled halls, lines of Space Marines in their finest, his own body clad in royal purple ceramite trimmed with brilliant gold, he would awaken in a bunk on the Rhino, head swimming with images of times long forgotten and buried, dirty light filtering through cracked vision blocks, and always with the weight and regret of lost brothers and crushed dreams.

"You're sinking again Lyre," Cornet thumped Lyre on his shoulder plate, waking him from his thoughts. "You always become depressed when you're tired. We'll soon be underway, and then I'll share that bottle of amasec with you that I've been saving."

"Should we have run Cornet?" Lyre asked, leaning back and trying to settle in his seat. "Should we have stayed with the Kakaphony?"

"No," Cornet answered firmly. "There was nothing left there for us. Save for the deluded aspirations of a mad man. His way of making war is weak, thinking that brute force and numbers is the way to solve any problem. How many did we lose in the first few engagements?"

"Too many. Yet Astartes don't run. Astartes know no fear."

"Well then its a shred of a good thing we aren't Astartes anymore. We are Noise Marines, and the Kakaphony isn't the only band out there. I have my own ambitions, my own voice. I may not have a soul, but shred I'll make up for it by becoming a warrior the gods will notice."

"There you go again, dreaming."

"Remember when our only wish was to die well? Very strange how it took the sacrifice of my soul to change that to a desire to live well."

Lyre had to agree with Cornets observation. No matter how many were recruited to the Kakaphony, they would lose just as many the following battle. Supplies were always thin, their forces had always been stretched, and Toserian would involve them in another destructive campaign without any consideration to the advice of his lieutenants. For the first time, Lyre and Cornet had known true hunger, had felt their nerves fray, felt their armor grow loose and cold on their bodies. To keep that twisting gnawing in their gut at bay, many had turned to stimulant abuse, or simply violence for the sake of violence. Other still would swear allegiance to new demonic masters. As long as Toserian had bodies to throw at the enemy, he didn't care if they were fit to fight.

"You know who I want my one millionth soul to be?" Cornet settled back in his own seat. "I want to take that bastard Toserian. And if he has no soul left for Forsworn to chew, I will be quite pissed."

Lyres response was stolen by a chirp on the vox from Fret. "Boss, getting a message in from the _Blood Lust_."

Cornet picked up the receiver in the back of the Rhino. "Cornet, of the No-Name Nobodies."

"I think that names already been taken," Crasis grumbled from the back of the Rhino.

A smile pulled at the corner of Lyre's lip. Seems that he wasn't the only one Cornet had kept up trying to find a band name. Finally having a moment of peace, Lyre allowed himself to slip into half-sleep. Just a brief rest before they reached the shuttle. He snapped fully awake again when he felt the Rhino halt completely. He hadn't noticed Cornet moving through the Rhino, knocking the rest of the band on their shoulder plates, save for Sonata. "We've just been given a mission."

"We just finished a gig. Another one lined up already?" Crasis had taken a few hard knocks and like Lyre, just wanted to stim up and nod out.

"Nope, we stay here for the time. We're one of the last bands to pull out of the hive. Our host needs us to locate and collect a person of interest that has sensitive information regarding Imperial strength and maneuvers in this sector."

"Which means they will be upper hive...and we're currently making way to the outskirts," Crasis countered.

Cornet wasn't shaken by Crasis' complaints. Rank and chain of command had collapsed long ago. Cornet and Lyre had taken a joint leadership role, although they would yield to their band mates respective areas of expertise as situations arose. Cornet rested his chin on his fist in a thinking posture, nodding. "Well then, perhaps I'll vox our host back and tell him we don't want triple our pay after all."

Sonata rolled over in her bunk and stuck her hand out. "I'm in."

Crasis leaned forward. "Triple? You should have said so. In."

Elision and Lyre responded likewise.

Cornet gently took Sonata's hand and folded it back against her chest. "I have no doubts to your abilities Sonata. But we need our Warsinger alive. And Fret will need the support. You will still get your share," he shot a glance around the passenger space daring anyone to disagree. No one did.

The four Noise Marines and Fret leaned together toward the center of the Rhino, all four terrifying helms and mechadendrites hovering over a dataslate displaying maps of the hive levels. Cornet began to relay the information.

"Our target is here, that could of course change," he highlighted a middle class merchant neighborhood at the eastern side of the hive. "We can travel through the underhive until we reach this point," he tapped an area a tier below a central maglev station. "The station itself will most likely be heavily defended, but its also our best bet to move in and out quickly. Elision and Crasis, you two will monitor our escape route, and in the event conditions change, locate another egress point," Elision and Crasis were best suited for the task. Their hearing was even more sensitive than most Noise Marines and they could locate threats with pin point accuracy. Since Elision and Crasis had joined the band, they had never fallen for an ambush or weak support structure.

"It will be done," Crasis took the data slate for a moment to study it more closely. "The maglev system runs fairly close to the sewage systems. With that we can gain entry to the sump and find a more suitable insertion point closer to the target," he lowered the slate. Although they had spent the past week fighting for control of the hive, they had been entrenched in the slums in the northwest. This would be their first venture into the hive proper.

"Lyre and I will locate and secure the target. Key in on the vox as the plan changes," Cornet knew to allow his band to act with autonomy as needed. Their force was too small and the hive too large to draw attention to themselves. Plans changed. But that was part of the fun. If a beat or melody had no variation it became boring and predictable, and Cornet tried to be anything but predictable.

The back hatch of the Rhino lowered, and all four slipped out with weapons ready. Fret had backed the Rhino into a narrow alley to provide cover, then he and his three servitors went to work tossing trash and scrap metal around the Rhino to camouflage it in with the rest of the hives surroundings. This part of the hive had taken a pounding so the task was an easy one.

Crasis and Elision alternated on point as they uncovered various sewer access hatches and stairways leading deeper into the sump. Their purple and black armor blended in well with their surroundings, but Lyre and Cornet stuck out miserably. Their armor was also purple and black, but large yellow mohawk-like crests of feathers, hair, and a few kroot quills graced their helms. Along with their brilliantly colored weapons, they made easy targets. In battle the crests would ripple with energy and power, in ambushes, Lyre or Cornet would serve as bait or a distraction while the others moved in on their prey. For more routine exercises, the crests served to function as a kind of auspex array, feeding atmospherical, wind and even vox chatter to their helms. That function itself was a double-edged sword. Cornet would never forget the time he had been pinged by a Titan and received such a sensory overload that his armor was unusable for weeks.

Elision paused near a drainage hatch and halted the band. He knelt as the others took up defensive positions around him, then lowered his head toward the grating. Elision had once been involved with a Slaaneshi cult that used bodily modifications as a central point of their worship. A grid of bronze strips circled and crossed Elisons skull, each one hardwired into a part of his brain designed to trigger pleasure sensations. His mouth and lower jaw had been replaced by a large grill, giving him a permanent sinister grin. As a result, he didn't speak much, and when he did he could cant binary just like a tech adept. "This one," he said, his voice distorted and blurred by the grill.

Lyre took up Cornets place as they opened the grate and dropped in one by one. The space was small and tight here, and the Noise Marines had to hunch over to move through single file. Foul water splashed over their boots. With Elision sniffing away on point, they moved quickly, scaring up the occasional human who had taken refuge in the drainage system during the fighting. The tunnels gradually became larger and the smell more intense as they entered the sump proper. Here the water didn't flow, instead it settled in large stagnant pools. Cornet and Lyre were now moving through quicksand-like paste made of all the unimaginable debris that could wash down the drains. Human and animal waste was a given, as were human and animal remains. More odd were the larger pieces of furniture, bags of clothing, crates of childrens toys, cutlery, crockery, entire vehicles tucked away in forgotten corners like ships in a bottle. Glowing fungi, and an entire control console from the bridge of some Imperial Navy vessel. For a moment the group paused and pondered the logistics of getting such a find back to Fret and the black market, but eventually determined that it wasn't worth the effort in light of what they would receive from a successful gig.

Crasis took point as Elision dropped to the rear. The tunnels were surprisingly silent, dampened by centuries of dirt and ash. Cornet ran his hand along one wall, the ceramite of his glove scratching up soot. This wasn't the first time this hive had burned. Nor would it be the last. Even now they walked along what must have been an old street with walled up storefronts.

"We're being watched," Crasis announced over the vox, breaking the silence. "Sump dwellers. I haven't seen any territorial markings on the walls or totems. Not sure if we are trespassing on anyone's 'turf'."

"Keep proper and head on," Cornet responded. "We might have allies here, wouldn't do to start shooting up the place and attract attention we don't need."

Lyre tracked a few life signs moving down an intersecting tunnel. The law of the wilds was in full strength down here. "Feels like home."

Crasis led them through a broken wall, and into a tunnel of the mag-lev system. From the litter and worn paths present, this was a highway for sump dwellers. All around them they could hear echos from other parts of the hive where battles were still fought. Numerous mag-lev tracks descended or ascended into darkened tunnels. Crasis led them along a rising tunnel, then halted the group near a rusted hatch. "Here is our best egress point. I hear the engines of heavy armor ahead. Its safe to assume the Imperials have locked down the station."

Cornet spotted the discarded wrapper of a meal bar. "And make regular patrols as well."

Lyre and Elision worked to loosen the hatch. The heavy door opened with a loud scream-like squeak that echoed down the mag-lev tunnels. Cornet stiffened and Crasis dropped to one knee. "Get that hatch open," Cornet whispered. "Someone heard us."

"Its got one good screech left in it," Lyre answered.

"Work fast."

Crasis braced one foot on the wall and pushed, attempting to lift the door slightly off the hinges to reduce the noise. His efforts were rewarded by an even louder groan. In the distance they could see lights bobbing in the darkness.

Elision grabbed one corner of the hatch and held it open while his bandmates slipped inside, then swung around himself, catching the door as it swung closed with another scream. Cornet saw Elisions intent on silently shutting the hatch. "Might as well let it drop, they already know we're here and we can't use this tunnel again anyway."

Elision let go of the door and it slammed shut, the close concussive impact of the iron giving the Noise Marines a little shiver of delight. "They shouldn't be able to open that anyway," Lyre shrugged. "But just in case," he attached a small mine to the hatch. "The Imperials will have a nice surprise waiting for them."

Now secure in a maintenance tunnel, they examined their surroundings. Prayer seals and stale incense hung in the air. Sparse glow globes provided enough light to find a path through the various pipework and machines. After confirming that no Imperials were present, they pressed on, turning corners into more engine bays and the occasional temporary worker hab.

"Looks like we're either in, or close to, the Mechanicum holding near the mag-lev station." Crasis noted.

"Anything useful here?" Lyre asked.

"Probably a better map of the hive. Give me some time and I can really wreck some havoc in the Imperial holdings and vox," Crasis smiled. "Be fun if we could take the hive single-handedly."

"We are here for only one thing," Cornet asserted. "And I have no desire to be left behind when the Imperials begin a cleansing sweep."

Lyre fell silent on that. He and Cornet had survived one cleanse during their centuries campaigning together, and they had been flushed out and run like vermin before hounds. With no re-enforcements, and little ammunition, every shot needed to count. They were in no condition to survive another.

Crasis stopped near a small altar with rotating holo image of the cog symbol of the Mechanicum. "Just what we needed," he extended his arm and a small snake-like dendrite came from his wrist and worked into a port on the altar. Immediately the cog symbol began to struggle and fade away, overcome by the elements of scrapcode Crasis fed into the system. He withdrew his dendrite and arm. "There. In case we come back for another attempt on the hive, its machine spirits will be a little more cooperative."

"Did you get a map?" Lyre asked.

"We keep along this tunnel and it will fork to the left. Should lead us to a maintenance bay for the mag lev cars. From there, its a short run to the next tier and our target," he fell into step behind the rest of the group. In a moment they were in the maintenance bay, using a few benches as cover, although with Lyre and Cornet's tall crests still peeking over the rim of the work benches, the cover was more symbolic than anything. Outside the thin metal doors they could hear what sounded like an all-out riot. People shouting, the crack of lasrifles, and the occasional deep thoom of heavy artillery.

Cornet rose cautiously from his place of cover, then stood near the bay doors, peeking through a crack into the street. Empty, save for the rubble he had come to associate with the aftermath of a large scale assault. Seems there were either a few Chaos warbands left to be flushed out, or opportunistic hive gangs were making an effort to claim undefended ground. Lyre joined him, kicking a can of lubricants across the bay. Cornet shook his head and couldn't help but smile. Noise Marines were not known for their ability to keep quiet. He was impressed they had made it this far without attracting any attention. Not that it would be a concern considering all the racket outside.

"We split up here. Elision, Crasis, find us a better route back to the Rhino. Lyre and I will collect the target," Cornet ordered.

"And leave to go have all the fun," Crasis countered. The sound of combat drawing all four of them closer to the doors. It was like a craving, an itch that needed to be scratched.

Cornet tapped a dispenser at his hip. It once held krak grenades, but had been modified by Fret to carry another item. An armorcrys vial containing some clear blue liquid dropped into his palm. He tossed the vial to Crasis. "There, some Float should keep you happy until we return."

Crasis caught it gratefully, then immediately added it to the collection of stims on his backpack unit. "Break a leg."

Lyre and Cornet opened the door and slipped out onto the street, if it could still be called that. Ruined buildings, toppled skyscrapers, sandbag enclosures, the burned husks of so many vehicles, both civilian and military make, and bodies. Bodies in various states of decomposition. In the midst of all the green and gray, the pair of purple and yellow Noise Marines stood out horribly. The sound of combat came from further up the street, where thick blue-gray smoke hung in the air, underlit at times by sporadic lasfire.

"That would be the direction we're heading," Cornet said with a shrug. He began moving a brisk pace, Lyre falling into lockstep with him, each a perfect mirror of the other, staying close to cover in case anything challenged them. The smoke parted as they emerged onto a large plaza lined with destroyed shops and overturned vehicles. Here the Imperial Guard and Planetary Defense Forces were making a stand against a dirty rabble of hive gangers, lead by a Chaos Marine. By the look of him he wasn't terribly high in the pecking order, probably left behind to cover his Warbands escape. Not that it mattered to the wretches at his side. "No one I know."

"Me either," Lyre seconded, moving into the cover of a burning chimera. "But he is providing a good distraction."

Cornet peered around the side of the chimera. "The Imperials are guarding that staircase to the next tier. We will need to get past them."

"We could give our companion and his rabble the push they need," Lyre suggested, holding Red Widow in his left hand before him.

Cornet nodded, and Lyre could read the smile in his voice. "It would be impolite to take the ladies out and not provide them with some refreshment," he held Forsworn in his right. "Showtime."

Cornet and Lyre emerged from either side of the chimera, each one mirroring the others movements and action. They were a pair, completing and complementing the other. Among the terrifying warriors of the many Chaos Warbands, never had there been a more effective and horrifying duo. Red Widow and Forsworn sang out as their soul slaves caressed their strings. Notes and melodies like the cries of the damned ripped through the plaza. The Imperials hesitated for a moment, unsure of this new frightening development.

The Chaos Marine turned at the roar of the weaponry behind him, then raised his chainsword in greeting. "Noise Marines! Slaanesh be praised!"

Emboldened by the presence of two other enemies of the Imperium, the gangers rushed the Imperial holdings, oblivious to the lasfire and mortar rounds raining down on them. Lyre and Cornet fell in behind them. Lyre ran his fingers along the length of Red Widow's neck, the rough edges on the bottom of his gauntlet drawing a scream from his weapon that caused a few heads to explode. Cornet then echoed the scream in reverse, causing the converse amount of heads on the opposite side to implode. Between them the other Chaos Marine cracked bolter rounds after the horde of gangers. Lyre and Cornet advanced, collecting the souls from the still warm bodies of their kills. The Imperials line had been broken, the gangers destroyed storefronts and began looting, others rushed the stairs, determined to see the upper levels of the hive before they were cut down. Like deep ocean predators, blood was in the water and now an army of undesirables began to erupt from the forgotten places.

From every alley and manhole cover, dregs of the hive society spilled over, advancing with the aid of weapons taken from the dead or the sheer weight of numbers. Lyre and Cornet maintained a slow and steady pace, allowing the crowd to do most of the work for them, only letting out another series of destructive screams when the gangers lacked momentum.

"Like driving grox," Cornet observed.

"Grox smell better than this rabble," Lyre was about to begin mounting the stairs, when his superior hearing caught an unwelcome sound. "Cover!" he shouted, diving aside behind a nest of sandbags.

Cornet mirrored his action, taking cover behind a small barricade made of various odds and ends. Not a moment later the air above them was filled with numerous projectiles. Cornet risked a glance toward the top of the stairs to find a couple platoons of Guardsmen firing down at the advancing horde, and no less than five Adeptus Astartes of the Black Templars Chapter aiding them.

"Shred," Lyre snorted. If he and Cornet didn't move, they would be found and slaughtered.

Cornet sensed his brothers shift in mood and keyed his vox. "You know what I hate most about Imperials?"

"Thats a long list, but go on."

Cornet held Forsworn ready. "I hate that they are so damn healthy. Look at them. Clean faces, full bellies. Clean uniforms. Even those fattened bastard Templars."

Lyre peeked around the edge of the sandbags. He could agree with that sentiment. The Black Templars stood defiant behind the Guardsmen, the peeked cap of a Commissar barely seen above the height of their elbows. Their armor was clean, bright even. Every surface smooth with no trace of seams or cracks. Their weapons were well maintained, and with none of the wear that came with frequent combat. In contrast, the Noise Marines were dirty smelly heathens with armor cobbled together from many different makes. Not to mention no one in their band had a decent meal in months.

Just on general principal, Lyre wanted to rip their throats out.

"The Guardsmen don't concern me. Those frak-wits behind them are another matter," Cornet murmured.

"Shall we round?" Lyre asked.

"Seems to be our only option," Cornet gained his feet. "I'll go first," he darted out toward the

outside edge of the stairs, firing Forsworn off at the hip, sending pulses of concentrated sound into the the Guardsmen at the top of the stairs. Their armor had been constructed to withstand the impact of lasrounds and the odd piece of shrapnel. Every bright orb of light that left Forsworns concealed barrels passed through the wall of meat the Astartes had surrounded themselves in and kept going, taking out the Guardsman in the front, and any number of his fellows behind before losing momentum against a stone wall or vehicle. The unit turned as one and began to fire upon this new threat. Cornet angled the head of Forsworn to the ground and ripped another series of notes from her twisted strings. He jumped, using acoustic levitation to propel himself upward and forward much like he would with a jump pack. But performing this maneuver left him vulnerable.

Lyre waited for the moment to come out from behind cover, advanced and let lose with his own rapid fire series of sound pulses. The Imperials were still focused on the threat that Cornet posed, and didn't notice Lyre until it was too late. Red Widow claimed a score of souls, including one of the Black Templars. Attention now turned to Lyre, who jumped as Cornet had done, dodging a few lasblasts and bolts. Meanwhile Cornet was already among them. The Black Templars excelled at close combat, preferring the intimate crush of steel and bone to distant explosions. For once, the Imperials and Chaos Marines were of one mind.

In the hallowed ranks of the Holy Ordos of the Inquisition, it was said that if one caught visual confirmation of a Noise Marine, then the life expectancy of the viewer could be measured in the space of time it took sound to travel the distance between the Noise Marine and their victims. If sound or odd rumblings in the ground could be determined, then that time was halved. If a Noise Marine was close enough that the observer could make out the symbols on their armor or identify the type of weapon they carried, then the viewer was more than likely already dead. While a Noise Marine could focus sound with the aid of their weapon, there was still an ambient area of effect in place that created a kind of buffer between the Noise Marine and any possible attackers. The side effects of this zone ranged anywhere from nausea to complete surrender of the nervous system.

By the time Cornets chipped ceramite boots touched the stones of the upper landing on the stair case, five of the Imperial Guardsmen closest to him dropped dead where they stood, and Forsworn drank in their souls greedily. Before weapons were brought around and the alarm raised, Cornet had ran his fingers down Forsworns strings and felled ten more, their minds collapsing in on themselves in suppressing waves of despair. Then Lyre was among them, adding tones of hate and vengeance to Cornets layers of doubt and remorse. No mortal could withstand such an assault, and the line broke. Even the Commissar dropped to his knees in fear. That left only one threat that caused the Noise Marines pause.

The Black Templars.

Lyre and Cornet jumped away from each other, and toward the staircases rising on either side of the landing, forcing the remaining four Astartes to split their number to pursue the Noise Marines. Cornet picked a teasing ditty on Forsworn as he bounded up the stairs, keeping his steps erratic to trip up the Templars. Lyre mimicked his brothers movements on the opposite side, breaking stride only once to fire a few more sound pulses toward the Imperial Space Marines. Before the pulses could land however, one of the Black Templars head exploded in a red mist.

"Much obliged Noise Marines!" came a gruff voice. Lyre had forgotten that other Chaos Marine had been there. No wonder his Warband had left him behind. The hives fallen rushed the stairs again, and this time found little resistance. The Chaos Marine picked off another Black Templar and scaled the steps. By the time he had reached the upper landing, Lyre and Cornet had vanished into the hive.

Cornet and Lyre clung to the shadows as they ran. "Where to?" Lyre asked.

"The merchants quarter up ahead. Auspex is reading-"

A red flare from a lascannon suddenly ripped from a side street, slamming Cornet full on and sending him tumbling into what looked like a large drainage canal. Lyre dove for cover, then keyed his vox. "Cornet?"

Cornet groaned, then answered. "Ah shred...I'm fine, get that frakwit behind the lascannon will you? I'll meet you at the target."

Lyre didn't need to be asked twice. Red Widow had already tasted blood, and he was happy to oblige her. He knew Cornet would be fine. He always was.

Lyre peered out from his cover then quickly jumped away with a curse as the cannon fired again. No, not the same cannon. Two of them. One mounted on a Salamander, and the other on a Rhino bearing the markings of the local PDF. Before Lyre could formulate a plan, he saw the remnants of the rabble come boiling over the stairs. Both of the vehicles maneuvered to meet this new threat. The Rhino opening fire with its forward mounted heavy bolters. The crowd collapsed and fell as puffs of red mist erupted among them.

Knowing a ground battle could not be won with just himself and an angry mob, Lyre ran for the nearest building and began scaling a fire escape. He pulled himself over the top, and as expected, discovered a whole network of catwalks and scaffold that would take him untouched over the combat below. Well, relatively untouched. Almost as soon as Lyre set foot on a catwalk bolts chewed up the grating at his feet. Seemed the Templars had beat him up here. Three of them advanced on his position.

"Ready Red?" Lyre whispered. Red Widow purred in his grip, for once not fighting him, welcoming this opportunity to feast upon so many Space Marines. Lyre jumped again, angling Red Widow downward to give himself lift. As he descended, bolts rang off the his pauldrons and grieves, scorching the paint and sending more chips flying. He ripped a broader pulse from Red Widow's strings, enhancing the sound with his own voice. It was a seldom documented ability found only in few Noise Marines, the result of Fabius Bile's research and work in improving upon the geneseed of the Emperors Children.

The Black Templar didn't stand a chance against a point blank Warp Scream. Inside his helmet, the Space Marines ears burst before the concussive blast of Red Widows own voice cracked his ribs and caused his twin hearts to rupture. Lyre landed, one foot planted on the Astartes chest, pinning his foe to the ground. He reached out, placing one hand on the Space Marines head. "Come to me," Lyre whispered. The power cables on the back of his gauntlet began to glow with Red Widows touch as she fed her power and influence into her soul slave.

Lyre could feel the Black Templars soul struggle, his young, oh so young mind reel at the injustice being done. But the flesh was dieing or already dead, and he could no longer feign ignorance of the power that lurked in the darker corners of the galaxy. Lyre felt warmth spread through his palm as Red Widow licked her hungry crimson lips. He pulled his hand away, drawing the soul from the body, through the ceramite, and finally to open air. For a brief moment Lyre could make out the features of the youth. Black hair and blue eyes clenched tightly against his fate, calling to a corpse god that would never answer, indeed, couldn't even hear his pleas in this forsaken place. Red Widow opened her maw, row upon row of serrated sharp teeth snapped down on the incorporeal form in Lyre's grasp.

Another soul consumed, and Lyre another step closer to his freedom.

"Seven hundred ninety four thousand, three hundred twenty four," Lyre noted. He stood up fully, defiantly, and glared at the remaining two Black Templars. They had paused, too enraged to act by the horror of the loss of their battle brother. "And you two, number three twenty five and three twenty six," he could hear one of them subvocalising into their vox. "Oh please," Lyre chuckled, Red Widow had her claws fully in him now. "Please send more. I'm so very, very hungry."

* * *

Cornet cursed under his breath as he slogged through the dirty water in the drainage canal. He had a large wound at his side and he couldn't seem to stem the flow of blood. He hadn't even heard that lascannon charge up, nor the rumble of the Salamander it had been mounted on. His entire left side burned, the armor crisped and cracking in lines that resembled dry rot. If Forsworn hadn't defended him, that beam would have passed right through. He had sensed her condense her essence, severely draining her energy as well as his, creating just enough of a buffer between them and the incoming beam of light. Every time he thought that he had Forsworn figured out, she would surprise him with another strange ability.

The blast had also knocked out his vox. He had been able to give Lyre that last message before it shorted completely. He chuckled to himself, remembering a time when he believed that every piece of technical hardware that came across his path possessed a mercurial spirit of some kind. Fret had set him right on that. Fret had set the band right about a lot of things, the most liberating being that most machines couldn't feel or even claim any flavor of sentience. Most machines. Titans, like the one that had pinged him out of pure spite, were another story entirely.

Cornet referenced his HUD again. He couldn't stay here. They would come looking for him, and in his weakened state they would find and slay him. His backpack had been nearly drained from Forsworns quick thinking, and already the servos in his armor were beginning to lag. But if he could find a place to rest for a few moments, the pack would charge on its own, and he would be able to focus on healing the wounds the lascannon had left him with.

He passed a large grill set into the wall at shoulder height, and peered inside. It was a long drainage tunnel, probably running the length of the street, broken only by the odd patch of sunlight that indicated an overhead drain or crawlspace. This seemed like as good of a place as any. The grate swung open on its hinges and Cornet climbed inside. Over the tops of the buildings he heard Lyre's Warp Scream echo, shattering windows and toppling a few loose chimney stacks. "Don't have too much fun," he mumbled, closing the grate behind him and moving cautiously through the tunnels.

Cornet found a relatively dry place, and sat down leaning against the brick wall. Shred. The Imperials even had clean sewers. Then again, it was obvious these had been made to control a large amount of water, maybe it rained often enough to keep the systems flushed. His hand rested protectively across Forsworns strings. She still thrummed with energy and a bit of that playful edge he had come to know as one of her quirks. Forsworn could be a harsh mistress, but she was as fair as a demoness could manage to be. Cornets soul tally sat a comfortable distance behind Lyres, but was still considerable. Lyre was impulsive, quick to anger and even quicker if a gory kill was involved. How much of that was his brothers doing, and how much was Red Widow was hard to determine.

He knew that Red Widow rode roughshod all over Lyre. Her appetites burned in his eyes, and at times he had slight feminine gait to his walk that indicated she had possessed his body in the heat of the moment. Cornet could see Lyre's nerves fray with every battle, and every moment that Red Widow remained in his grasp. Gone was the calm cool manor Lyre had maintained as a member of the Phoenix Guard. Gone was the flourish and efficiency he had possessed in his actions and decisions. Red Widow had reduced him to a frantic chained beast. Cornet knew the only way he could help his brother and ease his suffering was to simply be there for him, and support each other until they had claimed their one million souls and were released from their contracts. That in itself was no easy feat, and many had failed.

Cornet heard a sudden splash from somewhere along the tunnel. Even though the acoustics down here were terrible, his enhanced Noise Marine senses were able to locate and identify the source. It was someone walking slowly through ankle deep water. The steps were small yet confident, as if they already knew the terrain. Probably not a Guardsman then, and certainly not an Astartes. He hadn't run into an Imperial yet that ventured into the unknown without a support group containing scribes, Munitorium officials, and Ecclesiarchs leading the way proclaiming heroic deeds and untruths.

One of the distant shafts of sunlight wavered and Cornet could make out the muddy appearance of a boy, no older than twelve, maybe thirteen standard years, walking slowly through the water, his attention completely absorbed by a glittering trinket in his hand. His hair was blond and poorly kept, clothes dirty and torn, and a smear of blood along his left side told of his hard-won prize. The boy kept walking, then stopped five meters away from Cornet, only now looking up to see that he was not alone in the tunnel. He gasped, and hid the trinket behind his back.

Cornet knew he must have been a sight. What wasn't brilliant purple or yellow had been scorched black, and the red lenses in his helm were like burning coals in the dark. Yet to his credit the boy didn't run, only stared at Cornet in guarded fascination. The boy then turned on his heel and headed for another side tunnel. "I saw nothing," he said over his shoulder.

"Boy," Cornet called.

The boy froze where he stood, unsure of how to react.

"You don't fear me?"

"If you had wanted me dead, you would have killed me by now. I saw nothing. There is nothing here," he glanced back toward the path he had been about to take, then hesitated and looked back toward Cornet. "Is...is it true?"

"Is what true boy?"

"That all servants of Chaos are hideous mutants?"

The audacity and innocence of the boys question brought a low chuckle from Cornet. "Come closer."

The boy took a two steps, no more.

Cornet reached up and removed his helm, relishing the sensation of the cool air on his skin. His short black hair fell free from the padded interior of his helmet. His features were gaunt, like a man that had known hunger and suffering yet his deep set amber eyes held a playfulness and knowledge that few could ever match. His thin lips twisted into a smirk. "Do I look like a mutant?"

The boy came a little closer, his curiosity getting the better of him. "No tentacles?"

"None."

"No eyes in places there should not be eyes."

"No."

"No cloven hooves or bat wings?"

Cornet chuckled again. "No boy. But that isn't to say those things do not exist. I do have one flaw however."

"Can I see it?"

Cornet reached into a bag at his hip and pulled out a ration bar. "I'm afraid its not something that can be seen. I had sold my soul for ultimate power, and now I seek to get it back," the boys eyes lit upon the ration bar, and Cornet knew he had him. He wagered this child hadn't had a bite to eat in some time. He pulled the wrapper apart and broke the bar in half, then held out one half to the boy. "Would you like some?"

The boy closed the final distance between them, accepting the ration bar and sitting down opposite Cornet in the tunnel. "Good luck in getting it back. The Ecclesiarchs all say that a deal with Horus is one-sided."

Cornet shrugged. "I can vouch for that. What do you think landed me in this mess?" to his surprise the boy chuckled between mouthfuls. Cornet wasn't sure what millennium that ration bar was from, but the boy seemed to be enjoying it. "That trinket you have collected, a gift? For your mother?"

"Hmm? This?" the boy held up a glittering jewel on a chain studded with gemstones of many colors. "No, I don't have a mother. But if I wait until things settle, I can sell it to some gangers down hive and pay a bribe to the manufactoriums."

"Why would you need to bribe them?"

"To get a place to work. Workers live in habs supplied by the manufactoriums, and have set food allowances. It would be hard labor, but at least it would be stable and I could count on a meal," he finished up the last few crumbs of his ration bar.

"How far the Imperium has drifted from the dreams of the fallen," Cornet mused, taking a bite of his half of the ration bar. He heard a loud thump on the street above, and the sound of motors cycling down. "Seems they have the street secured," it was going to be impossible to surface now, and the clock on their mission timetable was still ticking.

"They'll be down here any moment. The Arbites know this system of tunnels are like a highway for the hives forgotten," the boy stood up and dusted a few crumbs off his shirt before licking them off his hand. "I can show you a better place to hide."

"You would do that, knowing what I am boy?"

The boy looked over his shoulder, unafraid. "You gave me your ration bar, freely. No one, not the Arbites, not even the Ecclesiarchs have done that."

Cornet rose to his full height, and snapped his helm back in place. "Then lead on," already a plan was beginning to form in his mind for the little castoff of Imperial society. The boy so far had been fearless, was obviously toughened by his life, yet displayed a mental capacity that put most Guard Officers to shame.

The boy led him down a series of steadily decaying tunnels, and it was no sense of irony that Cornet realized they were heading upward. Perhaps if he and Lyre had kept to the storm drains, their path would have been easier. They crawled through vent shafts and a few elevator tubes using paths Cornet would have never even considered. When they finally emerged, Cornet was surprised to find the boy had taken him to a construction site for a new star scraper. The wind here was strong, and he could look down over the hive and the gradually setting sun in the distance. The entire structure was in disrepair, the remains of an abandoned project. The boy rattled open a large door to reveal a small dwelling that had once been a workshop, but now held a dirty pile of blankets and a few other odds and ends. From far below he could hear heavy artillery still pounding areas of the hive, punctuated by Lyres Warp Scream echoing over rooftops and up the deep channels between buildings. Cornet stood and examined the hive layout. The Imperials were steadily getting their hive back. Already he could hear the screams and smells of a cleansing sweep. So much for going unnoticed. With Lyre stirring up the Imperial forces, they would be on the look out for anything resembling a Noise Marine. An idea suddenly clicked home.

"Boy," Cornet asked.. "Would you like to play 'Space Marine?'"

"Depends," the boy answered, his tone taking on a skeptical aspect. "Is it anything like 'find the bishop' the priests like to play?"

It took a moment for Cornet to chew on that thought. "No...no-shred no, nothing like that. Your first mission, is to help locate a lost person of interest. He is supposed to be held in detention at a business in the merchant district, but he may have been moved since the fighting started. I need you to find his whereabouts and report back to me." Cornet pulled out three large ration bars, Space Marine sized. "And these will be your reward."

The boys eyes bulged, then looked down at the hive as a building began to topple.

"Don't worry about him. He is an ally. Just avoid the screams. Now go. We have until dawn to finish this."

* * *

Fret sat at his voxcaster listening in on the many frequencies the hive had to offer. He had located Crasis and Elision easily enough, and Lyre was currently making a mess of the business district, but the distinct lack of Cornet was worrying. He turned the dial again, going slowly over the spectrum of unique signals, searching for a hum that he knew would belong to Cornet. He stopped the dial at a strong encrypted channel, then began running the signal through various encryption cracking devices he had on hand. On the second attempt he could make out words.

"Oh shred," Fret groaned.

Sonata moaned and rolled out of her bunk, her feet hitting the floor heavily. "What are you shredding about?"

Fret glanced back at the Warsinger. She wore a black body glove that made the most of her curves along with a large make-shift bandage around her midsection. "Sonata, Cornet will rip out my spine if he knew I let you climb out of bed."

"I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself," she sat down next to Fret in the small driving compartment of the Rhino. She ran her hand through her purple and magenta colored hair, and leaned back in the padded chair. "Now what are you shredding about?"

"I just broke an Imperial vox encryption. Seems that Lyre is causing enough damage in the business district that they think we're making another push to take over the hive. The Black Templars have called on re-enforcements from orbit."

Sonata tilted her head to the side. "This was supposed to be a clandestine mission. Why is Lyre even on the offensive?"

Fret sighed heavily again, then shoved his hands in the pockets of his robe. "I think it might have something to do with losing vox contact with Cornet."

Sonata's tired expression was replaced with one of worry and concern. "Get the servitors in here. We're going to meet them."

"Sonata, you're in no condition to even think about combat. I've already recommended that Crasis and Elision go to assist Lyre," Fret leaned around the corner in time to see Sonata toss open a foot locker and remove her armor from it.

"Thats just adding more promethium to the flames Fret! Elision is a pleasure junkie, Crasis doesn't care as long as it bleeds, and Lyre is at the mercy of Red Widow. Get this rust tub mobile or are you going to make me fly the whole way?" she snapped.

Fret knew better than to challenge her. He sighed and rubbed his one organic eye. "I can get you a little closer, but not much. Crasis gave me an updated map of the area, and I've been keeping track of enemy movement through vox chatter," he started up the Rhino. "Just curious, how are you planning on remedying the situation?"

"Since Lyre has done a stellar job of letting the Imperials know we are here, I can use that as a distraction to get Elision and Crasis to accompany me to the target. Let me know the moment you hear anything on Cornet," Sonata snapped her last piece of armor in place and checked her bolt pistols. "I'll be frakked if I'm going to let them blow this kind of payoff."

* * *

Lyre hadn't expected to acquire an army. He hadn't expected to scare up so many followers of the ruinous powers that had gone to ground after the final assault. Infantry that had no transport off planet, zealots who had taken the sound of continued fighting as a sign from their chaos deity of choice that now was the time to act. He hadn't expected to run into that other Chaos Marine again, whose name turned out to be Monody of the little-known Blood Quest Warband.

As he was sure Cornet would have noted if he were present, even a small Warband like Blood Quest had agreed on a name.

Monody was shaping up to be a fairly competent leader. He knew how to work with very little resources and wasted no time in drawing in more of the zealots to his cause. If Lyre didn't know better he would swear there was some Word Bearer in his mutated geneseed somewhere. But he kept the Imperials on the run. He routed them, then drew them into ambushes, dedicated his followers to defending what seemed to be useless ground while giving the tactical advantage to the Imperials only to wrest it from them once more. A competent leader, but he seemed to fight war only for the sake of war. And Monody was _delighted_ by it.

Lyre had witnessed Khornites in their full fury, showering in blood and harvesting skulls for their god, and Monody was no different in that respect. With skill that took hindsight to truly admire, he was able to orchestrate unending combat with little pause, and maximum bloodshed. The more bleak and desperate a battle, the more Monody yearned for it.

Lyre had hoped to break away and return to his mission, or at the very least find Cornet. His brother had probably already beat him to the target now anyway. Even Red Widow seemed to be seeking a brief recess to digest her newest harvest of souls. The only thing that continued to cast doubt in Lyre's heart was the increasing accumulation of Black Templars in the merchant district. Any moment now they would push out and burn everything in their path.

The sun was beginning to set now and Lyre hoped to use this chance to slip away. Monody was still shouting at the top of his enhanced Space Marine lungs, commanding his newest bunch of zealots, and there would be more coming as the night wore on. Lyre's head turned skyward at the familiar sound of a jump pack, and he allowed himself a moment of pause to admire the form of their Warsinger as she descended.

Sonata's armor was the cleaner of the bands. Painted up in purple and black like her bandmates. Her formerly feathered seraphic wings had been replaced by serrated metal spires that flexed and unfolded as she maneuvered the air currents. In one hand she carried a bolt pistol, in the other a chainsword, and in her throat she carried her own demon that granted her its voice. Cornet had given her an Iron Halo they had scavenged off a cadaver on some battlefield that allowed her voice to be used at full capacity, and for the enemy to pause in fear as they looked upon the horror of her beauty. Where once the fleur-de-lis of her Order had graced her cheek, the burned skin now bore a red brand of Chaos Undivided. Her overly long loincloth, once a sign of chastity and dedication had been ripped and torn , fluttering around her legs and behind her like mist. She was a fallen angel, here to take more souls to hell along with her.

"Lyre!" she called out, her voice easily carrying over the sound of combat two streets over. She landed against the side of a building and jumped down, grabbing various ledges and gargoyles to arrest her fall.

Lyre rushed up to meet her. "Sonata, you shouldn't be-"

Sonata drew back her arm and cold cocked Lyre in his jaw. Lyre stumbled, forgetting how much of a wallop she packed. "Shut-up," she hissed. "I can handle this with Elision and Crasis. Find Cornet. This mission is bust."

For a moment Lyre pondered the possibility that he was in over his head. He wouldn't give up on the mission. Their element of surprise had been blown, but all was not lost yet. Shred, with the whole band now here they stood a chance. Recovering some of his dignity, he pointed to the steadily growling line of Black Templars forming at the top of the stairs in the merchant district. "Keep them off my arse."

Sonata glared back at him. "They will be the last of your worries if you don't return with Cornet."

Lyre ignored her barb and quickly found a side alley to slip away in. Despite her foul mood, he was happy Sonata had come. He paused in the ruins of a bombed building. There was only one way he knew to locate Cornet, and unless he moved fast, it would have every witch hunter on the planet after him.

He looped Red Widow off his shoulder, and held her out before him by the neck. He pulled off his helm and bit the inside of his lip hard enough to draw blood, then spit it onto the guitar-like body of his weapon. "By this offer of blood I summon you, hear me Red Widow."

She rose up through his subconscious in a rolling wave, no doubt wondering what could be distracting her slave from his task of gathering more souls. For the barest of moments Lyre could see her reflected in the surface of his weapon. The air around him filled with the sick scent of Chaos, like fruit that had decayed, or the sweat of a drunk. When he was sure he had her attention, he spoke again.

"I seek your sister Forsworn, I seek Cornet."

He could sense her disdain, the volumes of words unspoken and emotions condensed and wasted. Then it felt as if someone had grabbed the back of his head and turned it. Lyre traced the skyline and felt his focus settle on an unfinished star scraper. There.

Red Widow retreated back once more, and Lyre already knew she was going to demand a more hefty price next time than just an offering of blood. He snapped his helm back on and began running like Horus himself was on his heels.

* * *

The target was being moved. The merchant district was no longer suitable to contain him. Or at least that is what the boy overheard from an Imperial Guardsman's vox unit. Orders were to collect the prisoner and begin withdraw immediately. The Black Templars had called for re-enforcements from orbit, and by dawn the hive would be in flames. The boy remained in hiding as the vox man wrote something down on a pad of paper, then stood to deliver it to his superior.

Using stealth skills that had been honed on the streets and tunnels of the underhive, the boy slipped from his hiding place behind a stack of supply crates, crossed the small workspace, and collected the pad of paper and a pencil from the desk and retreated back to his refuge. Very lightly he ran the pencil over the paper in long broad strokes. The voxman had a heavy hand, and the indents he made in the paper as he had written the message stood out and became darker as the boy uncovered the message.

Satisfied that he had enough to earn those three ration bars, the boy ripped the top page off and replaced the pad of paper and pencil not a moment before the voxman returned. By the time the vox man had sat down, the boy was already out the door and running along the darkened corners of the Imperial camp.

However another set of glowing red eyes tracked the boys retreat, and a short time later a small squad of Black Templars picked up his trail.

* * *

Cornet watched the red sky long after the sunset. The hive was burning, this time the fires were not set by Chaos Marines and infantry to flush out Imperials. No, this time the flames were fed and fanned by the arrival of several drop pods of Black Templars that came slamming down into various areas of the hive. Heretic and Imperial alike would die this night. The wind ran through the towers skeleton once more, carrying a wave of heat along with it. Cyclones of fire twisted and danced through areas of the hive before vanishing in a swirl of flame. For a moment his thoughts drifted to Sonata, and how she loved to see such destruction, always seeking the beauty in the moment. He contented himself to know that Sonata was safe and more than likely soundly sleeping in the Rhino. Perhaps he could convince the boy to part with his trinket so he could present it to her when she awakened.

He heard the rattle and tap of feet making their way upward. He wasn't expecting to see the boy back so soon. Cornet peeked over the edge and saw the dark shape of the urchin climbing the scaffold below him, with no less than seven pairs of coal-like red eyes moving up quickly behind him.

"Boy!" Cornet called, then raised Forsworn and shot a few pulses down past the youth. One connected solidly with a Black Templar neophyte and the Space Marine in training lost his grip, falling to his death.

The boy turned, just as shocked as Cornet to see that he had been followed. With a primal scream ripping from his small lungs, he pulled on a loose piece of piping, sending a rain of debris down on his pursuers. For the moment the Templars kept their heads down, and Cornet took this opportunity to fire down at them again. "I didn't know they were there!" the boy called desperately.

"I believe you," Cornet grabbed an iron bar and began to climb down the far side of the tower. The boy climbed up on a connecting beam and sprinted toward Cornet.

"Head down, there's a larger floor there," the boy grabbed another pipe and slid down it like a firemans pole. Cornet wondered if he was accustomed to having his little high-hide raided. The boy never asked for Cornets help, and didn't seem to expect any either. Cornet didn't like taking his hand off Forsworn, but he was going to need both arms if he expected to make the decent.

Grabbing various beams and pipes, Cornet jumped and slid his way down. He was thankful the wound from the lascannon had already healed, albeit slowly, but his armor would need another overhaul. Below him he saw the boy land on a large sheet of rockcrete that had been poured as a floor, and seemingly from every corner spilled Black Templars like ink. Most of them Neophytes seeking to impress their Initiates.

"Kill the little heretic, then slaughter the big one," said a Templar with the marking of a Castillian on his shoulder.

The boy had no where to run. He had been ambushed just as Cornet was pinned in place on the scaffold. Cornet saw bolters and chainswords raised, pointing toward the child. Something inside him rebelled. More from instinct than from rational thought, Cornet dropped down behind the boy, grabbed him, turned, and jumped off the edge of the star scraper. He grunted as bolt rounds tore through his back and legs, one taking a chunk of the feathered mohawk with it.

As the towers below rushed up to greet them, only one thought went through Cornets mind.

_Why?_

Why rescue this brat?

What had he done other than nearly get him killed?

As he fell he could make out a spot of brilliant purple and yellow. A moment later Lyre let loose with a broad spectrum assault, the force of the blast corrected Cornets fall, allowing him to reach out to one of the neighboring towers. The boys arms wrapped tightly around Cornets neck as the Noise Marine desperately clawed at the stone surfaces around him with hands and feet to slow his decent and make use of handholds. He crashed through the fragile glass of a rooftop greenhouse, and rolled out the other side. The boys grip broke and he went tumbling over the curved edge of the roof while Cornet continued to roll, his body coming to rest a meter away from the edge.

"The Emperor has heard our pleas. He has delivered us this evil."

Cornets senses were still reeling from the numerous bolt rounds that had penetrated his armor, and then the sudden arrest of his fall. Blood filled his mouth as he tried to move. A ceramite boot dropped on his hand, kicking Forsworn away and over the sloped edge of the roof.

"Go on, you have earned this kill. Send this traitor back to Horus' heel."

Cornet turned to see a Neophyte wielding a flamer, flanked by a Black Templar Initiate. The Neophyte was young, so horribly painfully young, but there was a zealous gleam in his eyes that only spoke of years of brainwashing and hatred.

_So this is what it has come to, the beautiful utopian dream of unified humanity?_

Cornet heard the trigger depress, louder than even an Earthshaker cannon, the sudden hiss of compressed promethium, and white heat.

* * *

They kept coming. Wave after wave of Black Templars spilled through the city. Nothing was safe, everything burned. That made it easier for Fret to guide the Rhino through the congested streets, the servitors were on the various guns to cover both the Rhino's advance and retreat. Sonata had finally sent her signal for collection. Crasis and Elision were with her, along with someone she called a new ally.

Fret was equally worried about Cornet and Lyre. Still no word from Cornet, and Lyre had last been pinged heading for one of the larger concentrations of Black Templars near some new construction deep in the hive. He pulled over when he saw Sonata's trail marker, a pair of dumpsters knocked over on their sides and set end to end. After a sweep with the auspex, Fret tapped the all clear on the vox.

From a burnt-out storefront, Elision emerged, followed by Sonata, then Crasis, then some other frakker Fret had never seen before. A Chaos Marine in the red armor of a Khornite, and the grin of a Slaaneshi cultist riding a pleasure high. Fret opened the rear hatch, grabbed the nearest servitor, and went to load his band mates up.

Elision and Crasis helped Sonata aboard. Her wound was bleeding freely again, then climbed up after her. Fret leveled a laspistol at the other Chaos Marine. "Name, Warband, rank."

The Chaos Marine bowed slightly, holding his hands open to show he was unarmed. "Monody, Blood Quest, praise to Chaos Undivided."

Fret lowered the pistol. "Get on."

Monody climbed aboard, then sat in one of the rear seats of the Rhino.

"Any word from Cornet and Lyre?" Crasis asked, reliving one of the servitors and taking its place at the stubber.

"Not yet," Fret took up driving again

"_The_ Cornet and Lyre?" Monody asked. "Those two Noise Marines?"

"The very same," Crasis chuckled.

Monody nodded, his grin growing wider revealing all three of the teeth left in his head. "To think I had the honor to fight alongside two such celebrated sons of Slaanesh," he then lifted his hands and began chanting under his breath with eyes closed.

"What is he doing?" Crasis asked, turning from his weapon for a moment.

Sonata shook her head then sighed. "Praying. He's praying to Chaos Undivided in thanks."

"I didn't think we were that kind of band."

As if in response, Fret's vox beeped. "Thats Lyre calling for a pick-up. Hang on."

* * *

His mind was blank.

There were no words, no feeling, no emotion, no sound, no sensation, no other distraction. The world had condensed down to this one small section of rooftop. A small piece, set aside from the rest of the burning hive, which was in turn just one small patch of land on this planet, the planet just one spec in the endlessly burning galaxy. To Lyre, this piece of bloody and scorched section of rooftop, exquisite in its simplicity, the remains of lho-sticks clinging to seams, was the entire universe. It was the end-all be-all of his existence.

Lyre knelt, the entrails of the Black Templars he had slain catching on the heel of his ceramite boot, as if to pull him back from the edge of his own sanity. He removed his helm and reached out with ceramite sheathed fingers to the ashes before him. They had a greasy texture, softly crumbling under his questing touch. A word, the only sound, the only emotion in this void dropped from his lips, its meaning lost like a teardrop in a great ocean.

"Cornet?"

No, any moment now his brother would return, jumping from around the side of a vent shaft or rooftop generator, and they would share in this great joke. The joke of their mortality. Of superhuman warriors and the fear of death. There just simply weren't enough ashes here to make a Space Marine. They were spread too thin and in the wrong shape. Here they were white, and there black. So uneven in tone and texture, like burnt wood. Not like meat at all. He would need to tell Cornet that he wasn't fooled for a moment. They had seen thousands of creatures burn, and they never burned the same way twice. There was always something left.

Always something left...

Lyre fell on hands and knees, his fingers disturbing the smaller piles of ash. They fell like grains of sand between the joints in his ceramite gauntlets. Always something left. Be it a tooth or a bone, or...

His fingers brushed against something hard, and Lyre froze in place. Slowly, reverently, he pushed the ashes aside and lifted his discovery into the light of the burning hive. It was a chip of adamantium, triangular in shape, and curved at the corners. One side bore the image of the dual headed Imperial Aquila, and the other a rough scratching of the eight pointed star of Chaos Undivided.

Cornets guitar pick. He was never without it. They never used them on their weapons, but they were keepsakes, in some ways a totem of their dedication to their art. They often joked the picks were in the shape of their souls.

"His soul," Lyre suddenly sat back on his heels, clutching the pick tightly. "Forsworn?" he scanned the rooftop. Two dead Black Templars, a pile of ash, several more Templars spilling out of an internal staircase, drawing chainswords and gaining on him. But no Forsworn. The demoness would not have burned. And as long as she lived, then Cornet lived too! Or at least his soul was in safekeeping.

Lyre went to the edge and peeked over. It was a long shot but maybe Cornet had lost his weapon somehow? The edge of the roof overlooked a series of smaller rooftop gardens, descending in a series of steps before terminating in a large balcony no doubt used by the hives elite. On the balcony he saw Forsworn, and a young boy.

The boy looked beaten, bleeding from the head, one arm hanging limp at his side while he dragged Forsworn behind him. The weapon was easily his equal in size and mass if not more, yet still he tugged on. Forsworn was illuminated by an interior blue glow, flickering purple around the black curves of her body. Lyre jumped snapped his helm back on, then jumped down to the next tier before the Black Templars chasing him could start shooting.

A bolt round shattered a garden pot near the boy, and the boy dropped to one knee, sliding Forsworn out before him on the ground. More Black Templars spilled out onto the roof, some of them after the boy, the rest after Lyre. Before they could raise their weapons, the boy ripped his fingers along Forsworns strings, tearing a pained growl from the weapon that erupted into a wave of sound and agony. Lyre could hear Cornet's voice in that sound, screaming in fury and rage as the wave became a solid glowing blue wall. The balcony was instantly covered in hoarfrost, and the taste of the Warp was sharp in the air.

The Black Templars hesitated, and Lyre jumped down the final few tiers, landing next to the boy, ripping a chord of his own from Red Widow. A familiar sensation came over him. Cornet was here, not in those charred remains on the roof above. He was here.

The boy slammed his fists on the strings again, and Lyre could almost see a vague outline of his brother Noise Marine standing over the boy, wreathed in cold blue flame. Forsworn once again sent a painful shockwave across the balcony, spilling a few Black Templars over the edge, the ones that did not collapse from the sheer intensity of the sound. Lyre didn't waste the moment the enemy took to regroup. He grabbed both the boy and Forsworn, then jumped over the edge of the final tier. To his surprise, the boy didn't struggle and didn't cry out.

Red Widow gave a few bursts of sound to arrest his fall before Lyre touched down on the street level. He carried the shock through his legs and knees, and crouched for a moment to gain his bearings. He could feel Cornet. Sense that Cornet was with him, although whether that was coming from Forsworn or the boy it was hard to tell. He stood and dropped the boy to the ground, then swung Forsworn over his shoulder. The boy fell with a grunt and looked up at Lyre fearlessly.

"You must be Lyre. Coronet told me about you. You're his friend."

Lyre felt his skin prickle when the boy mispronounced Cornets name.

"Take me with you," the boy pulled himself to his feet.

Lyre knelt until he was on eye-level with the youth. "I might kill you boy. Are you aware of what you ask?"

The boys features took on a hard expression that men three times his age couldn't pull off well.

"You said you 'might' kill me. I know for certain, they _will,_" he pointed one finger upwards toward the rooftops. "My hive is on fire, and they have already branded me as a heretic! Take me with you!"

Lyre considered it, then shook his head. "I don't know what Cornet filled your head with, but a Chaos Warband is no place for a child. Unless I decide to sell you," he growled. Lyre stood up again, standing tall above the youth. "Now run."

The boy remained rooted, breathing heavily, his small limbs shaking with either fear or exhaustion. Perhaps both. "No," he hissed. "You're looking for your target? General Faircreek? I know where they have taken him."

Lyre suddenly turned on the boy, then reached up and removed his helm and glared down at him. The boy in turn glared back, fists clenched. In the low light, the first thing that caught the boys attention were Lyre's eyes. One was red, the other blue. At Lyre's back and side, Forsworn shivered a little, and once again Lyre was filled with the peace he only knew in Cornets presence.

Cornet was gone. But this boy already showed bravery that was beyond his years. Forsworn had even responded to his touch. "Once you tread this path boy, there is no turning back."

The boy nodded. "It won't be any worse than here."

"I'm sure that remains to be seen," Lyre hooked his helm at his waist. "Come," he held out his hand and the boy took it. Lyre drew him into his arms and stood, carrying the youth to the open end of the alley. Within moments, the child had fallen asleep in his arms.

* * *

"There he is," Fret pulled the Rhino over near an open alleyway. Lyre emerged from the shadows with a dirty bundle in his arms. Elision opened the side hatch to let Lyre in.

Lyre stepped into the Rhino, and shut the hatch behind him. Fret then tossed the Rhino in reverse to make their escape. Lyre approached an empty bunk, and set the bundle down on it, then pulled Forsworn from his shoulder and lay the weapon down next to it. He could feel the question on everyone's mind. Sonata looked at him, an expression of expectant apprehension burning in her eyes.

Lyre removed his helm, then crossed the small space to stand before her. Already tears were spilling down her pale cheeks. He took her hands, placed the guitar pick in her palm, then closed her fingers over it. He leaned in and kissed her temple, smelling her sweat and holding her close for a moment. No one dared to breathe a word or make a sound. Sonata gasped, holding back a cry of sorrow that threatened to overcome her. She reached up and wrapped her arms around Lyre's neck, resting her head in the small area between his pauldron and gorget. He wrapped his arms around the small of her back and held her close, each of them sharing the others pain. One, enveloped by the loss of a brother, the other consumed by the loss of a lover. Blame would come later, anger would surface and rip into both. For now there was only a moment of silence that seemed pitifully appropriate for the death of a Noise Marine.

Ten minutes later Fret pulled the Rhino over again at Lyre's request, then set the servitors on guard duty. Tensions and emotions where high in the crew compartment of the vehicle. Cornet had been the glue that held the band together. Without them they felt adrift and leaderless. Accusations flew toward Lyre. Where had he been when Cornet was slain? Why hadn't he come to the aid of his brother sooner? Why did they part ways to begin with?

Most of these were questions that Lyre had been asking himself, part of him still unable to digest that Cornet was really gone. Death was an accepted part of their existence, and as they had all witnessed, even gods could tumble if caught off guard.

"I'm gone," Crasis announced. "This entire mission was bogus from the beginning. And look what we have lost."

His statement hung in the air like the stench of a stale corpse. Without strong leadership, the band would fall apart. Lyre knew his judgment was being questioned, challenged, and unless he acted he would lose everything he and Cornet had fought for. The bundle on the bed stirred, but no one save for Lyre seemed to notice. _Cornet...and I,_ Lyre thought. _This was never just Cornets band._

Suddenly all of the long discussions of what to call their little band made sense. Cornet had understood even if Lyre himself had been too drunk or high or exhausted to care. They needed a name. They needed to be unified under an ideal that wouldn't die if one person did. It wouldn't crumble and falter if someone quit.

Once again the group fell to arguments, who was leaving now, who was going to get what, and possible bands they could align with. Lyre fell silent, fighting down the guilt that Red Widow was taking too much enjoyment in. No. They had worked too hard for the band to fall apart like this.

"Quiet," Monody said. His voice deep and cutting through the bickering like a splash of cold water. "Lyre is trying to speak."

"Then he can shush us himself," Crasis countered.

Lyre hadn't been aware of his lips moving, or even of sounds coming from his throat. But now that the shouting had stopped, he could hear himself for the first time in what felt like years. "I said, no one is going anywhere."

"Lyre, this mission is frakked! Mostly because of you and him!" Crasis jutted an accusatory finger at Monody. "Black Templars are everywhere, we don't even know if the target is still alive!"

Lyre looked on the band. A sensation that he thought had died beginning to well up within him once more. A feeling that he thought Toserian and the Kakaphony had ripped from him. The threat of failure had brought it roaring in with full force. His pride was returning. It had been a caged and wounded beast for far too long, and now it was back. Something must have been obvious in his mismatched eyes because everyone fell silent.

"We finish this mission," Lyre stood up to his full height. "Because if we don't then none of us are getting on that shuttle and we sure as frak won't find ourselves a new band easily. Even if this band is finished do any of you really want the stigma of failure to follow you to your new gigs?" he scanned every face. "Do you?"

Silence.

"Cornet is gone. All of us morn him. We can finish this mission for him, or for ourselves, or for the glory of Chaos Undivided, but we _finish it,_" One by one, he met their eyes. And one by one, his bandmates conceded. "When we get to the battle barge, we collect our payment, and then if you like, we go our separate ways."

"That's well and good. But where is our target?" Fret asked, his arms folded.

Lyre crossed the room to the bundle he had placed on the bed. "Boy. Awaken."

The bundle of rags moved and a youth roughly twelve years of age sat up and yawned. His eyes grew wide as he beheld the band of Noise Marines in various states of gore. His gaze settled on Elision for a moment, more wonder than fear in his expression.

"Boy, how is it you knew Cornet?" Lyre asked. Behind him Sonata crossed her arms.

The boy reached into a pocket at his side and pulled out the slip of paper. "Coronet sent me to find out where they had taken the 'target,' this is where General Faircreek had been moved."

Lyre took the paper and read it, then gave it to Fret. "Find this place. And this time, all of us are going. No more mistakes, its everything or nothing."

"And what do we do with the boy?" Monody asked.

Lyre breathed heavily. "We will discuss that after the mission is over."

* * *

The target had been moved to a large distribution and shipping compound on the river that ran partly along, then underneath the hive. The location made it an ideal removal point for any person of interest, and also a staging ground for troops. What was left of the Imperial Guard and PDF were steadily being evacuated from this area while the Black Templars continued to pound the hive, searching for what they were sure was a hidden army of Chaos Marines.

Using back streets and other side alleys, Fret was able to drop the Noise Marines off about a kilometer away from the target, then withdrew to a safer distance. As soon as Monody's ceramite boots hit the ground, he headed in a different direction than the rest of the band with a promise to return.

Lyre led the others toward the eastern side of the compound where the target was reported to have been kept. "Do you think we can trust that old coot?" Crasis asked.

"Monody? He seems harmless enough. Always up for a fight," Lyre answered. "I don't see how having someone that seems to be on a first name basis with the gods of Chaos around can be bad. Worked out well for us so far."

"I still don't trust him."

"Crasis," Sonata sighed. "You and Elision have been battle brothers for years and you still don't trust _him_."

"I don't trust you much either Sonata," Crasis hissed. "Never trust something that bleeds for five days and doesn't-"

"Shut it," Lyre snapped. They had reached the eastern wall. Towers had been erected at regular intervals, and Lyre could see and hear Guardsmen moving around inside. Searchlights panned the streets and buildings looking for possible infiltrators.

Sonata peered around the corner. "Looks like there's a gate further down. I could easily hop the wall and let the rest of you in. Still don't know whats waiting for us inside though."

Before Lyre could assign reconnaissance roles they heard a loud explosion to the south. Over the vox, and through the air they could hear echoes of Monody's voice.

"Death! Death to the servants of the false emperor! Rise up sons and daughters of Chaos! Rise up and slay your oppressors! Take back your lives and your hive! Make them pay for the years of hardship and betrayal!"

Lyre couldn't help but comment. "Say what you will about Monody Crasis. But that bastard son of Logar has a way of finding an army when he needs one."

Sonata waited until the guards in the nearest tower looked away toward the sound of combat, then slipped away and used her jump pack to alight on the tower. Her bolt pistols spat twin sparks, then all was quiet and dark again. "Got this tower secured. Crasis, Elision, come on over," she chanted into the vox.

The two Noise Marines waited until the searchlights had passed overhead again, then ran to the base of the tower and began to climb. The rocks and brick were no match for their superhuman grip. Lyre was the last, using a deep infrasonic thrum from Red Widow to propel him upward to the tower.

From this vantage point, they could see that Monody had indeed managed to collect an impressive force. Zealots combined with a tide of refugees from the burning hive overcame the gates and Guardsmen by pure weight of numbers. Most were unarmed, but a few began to collect weaponry from the fallen. Elision wasted no time in locating the heavy bolter that had been mounted as a tower defense, then swung it around. Firing first upon the tower to the right, then the one to the left, eliminating the threats on either side before turning it on the interior of the compound. Crasis howled as Elision tore into a set of promethium tanks. The tanks exploded with a terrific crack of thunder, flattening several nearby buildings and sending many Guardsmen and equipment flying.

Elision rode the triggers until the heavy bolter clicked empty and a few of the remaining defenses began to target the tower. He chuckled, his voice sounded blurred through the grill of his jaw. "Time to move on," Lyre announced, running down an internal stair case in the tower and spilling out into the compound proper.

The rest of the band settled into position behind him. They moved as a fluid unit. Each knowing the others strengths and weaknesses, covering and fortifying as needed. Lyre didn't want to train a new group. This one was balanced well enough even without Cornet. They adapted to his absence wonderfully.

Lasfire split the air around them, leaving easily ignored burns on their ceramite armor. Sonata shrieked and a score of Guardsmen dropped to their knees, bleeding from the ears.

"Leave that corpse meat to me Warsinger," Monody growled over the vox. "I've got the killing grounds covered."

Sonata fell back into step as Lyre headed for one of the larger warehouses, following the instructions the boy had found. A pair of Chimeras and a Salamander were parked in front of the warehouse, but their cannons were focused on Monody's horde at the southern gate. Crasis and Elision ripped into them with their Blast Masters, each of them grateful for the chance to finally release. The vehicles, and more importantly the squishy things inside, never stood a chance.

Lyre kicked in the door to the warehouse, and was greeted by the click of many lasguns pointed in his direction. With Sonata at his back, and Crasis and Elision having tasted blood, there was only going to be one outcome. "Showtime!" he shouted before all hell broke loose.

Sonata was the first into the fray, leaping over Lyre's shoulders, her serrated wings spread like an angel of the damned. Her voice filled the air cutting through all senses and reason. Lyre advanced behind her, Red Widow at his hip, roaring hungrily with sounds of despair and sorrow. Elision and Crasis flanked him on either side, the deep infrasonic resonance of their weapons turning the room into one large reverberating grinder.

The first rank of Guardsmen simply ceased to exist. They vanished in a frightened puff of red mist that coated their comrades and choked their lasrifles. The second rank turned in fear, and trampled the third behind them. Sonata landed then withdrew her chainsword and bolt pistol. Screaming obscenities in the praise of Chaos Undivided, she slit bellies and parted heads from shoulders. Lyre advanced behind her, covering her with timed attacks from Red Widow and his own fists when a Guardsman managed to stumble close enough.

The floor was soon a quagmire of blood and offal, with a stench that would make a Plague Marine retch. Elision and Crasis advanced mechanically, their combined tones vibrating bones from the flesh and rendering the remaining fleshy chunks into paste. Sonata had impaled several Guardsmen on her wings, and fluttered around the interior of the warehouse, dropping them like obscene bombs on their fellows, leaving ropes of entrails hanging from the rafters. Blood sloshed over the tops of Lyre's boots as drains became clogged with lungs and livers. Red Widow gorged on the feast before her, claiming souls with a zeal Lyre had never before experienced. More and more she demanded. Losing himself to the moment, that is what Lyre provided for her.

Chunks of human meat exploded against the rockcrete walls, blood collected and rained down from the rafters, stunned groups of Guardsmen huddled in corners until either Crasis or Elision's questing ears located them. One man lost an arm and attempted to fend Lyre off with his amputated limb. Lyre laughed madly, then with a sharp burst from Red Widow, removed the mans legs as well, leaving him to wallow in the blood and feces of his friends.

With a few final ejaculations of sound and melody, the slaughter ended.

The Noise Marines stood in the center of the warehouse, all one thousand of the Guardsmen that had been placed there were reduced to piles of rotting meat and offal.

"So which one was our target?" Crasis asked.

Lyre pointed toward a heavy steel door at the back of the warehouse. The blood dripping from the ceiling coloring his purple and black armor in horrific gory tones. Not needing to be told again, Crasis and Elision crossed the floor, kicking aside chunks of skull and entrails along with the odd helmet or two until they reached the door. Elision snapped the chains on the lock, then he pulled the heavy door open, revealing a small room that had once been a freezer for imported goods.

Sitting in the middle of the room, bound to a chair, was a middle aged man, wearing the uniform of an Imperial Guard General. He looked up timidly at his rescuers.

"General Faircreek?" Sonata asked, covered in so much blood that it gave the appearance that her skin had been ripped away.

"I am he," he glanced at Lyre, Elision, then Crasis. All of them terrifying with vast amounts of gore covering their armor. Lyre's feathered crest had become so soaked in blood and other fluids that it no longer stood upright. Instead it stuck to the sides of his helmet at all angles. "And...who are my saviors?"

Lyre pulled himself up to his full height, then gave a subtle flick of his head, sending the bits of blood caked feathers to the back with a wet slap. "We," he held his arms out to either side, palms open, and placed one foot behind the other, then made an elaborate performers bow. "Are the Aristocrats."

* * *

In the distance the hive burned. The horizon smeared in orange and yellow beneath dark clouds of smoke. Somewhere high above, somewhere in the stars lurked a Black Templars Battle Barge, an Imperial Guard troopship, and one very outgunned Chaos warship that awaited precious cargo.

Fret had evicted everyone from the Rhino once they had made it to a small way station far away from the burning hive. His servitors were busy with a water hose cleaning the interior of blood the band had tracked in, while Fret himself happily turned a fire hose on Elision and Crasis to clean bits of stomach lining and esophagus from the cracks in their armor. Lyre stood on an outcropping of rock, helm at his side and inwardly smiling at all the trouble just he and his small warband had caused.

Lyre turned when he heard the sound of small feet approach. The boy picked his way over stones and gravel until he stood next to Lyre. For a moment they watched the hive burn, then Lyre broke the silence. "So you wish to be a Noise Marine?"

The boy nodded, never taking his eyes from the flames.

"Its difficult. You will be tested. You may end up dead like Cornet, or worse. Your soul in the clutches of an unforgiving demon, or the plaything of a ruthless god."

The boy looked to Lyre. "If I stay here, I'll end up dead of starvation, my soul belonging to a manufactorum, or the plaything of a ruthless god on a golden throne. At least with the Aristocrats, I can chose how and when I die."

"So be it," Lyre smiled sadly. He could see why Cornet had gone to such lengths for the youth. "What is your name?"

"I don't have one. Everyone has always called me 'boy'."

Lyre shook his head. "That won't do for a Noise Marine," he crossed his arms and sized the child up, then said. "Clef."

"Clef?" the boy asked. "Whats a clef?"

"A clef is a symbol used in music that indicates which pitch the piece is played in."

"I like it," Clef stepped away from Lyre as Sonata approached.

"Go help Fret get the Rhino cleaned," Lyre gave Clef a playful shove with his boot back toward the transport.

Sonata watched Clef as he ran. "A child?"

"A Noise Marine in training," Lyre corrected her. "How is our passenger?"

"Hungry, like the rest of us," she walked with a limp, fresh bandages wrapped around her torso. "I don't think this wound is ever going to heal," she held out a wrapped package for Lyre. "Here. I found it in Cornets belongings," for a moment she watched the hive burn. "A fitting pyre for a phoenix."

Lyre looked at the package, then opened it. Inside was a bottle of amasec from Terra. Lyre didn't know how Cornet had gotten his hands on such a find, but it was easily worth more than they would make from this mission. Watching the hive burn, he popped the seal then removed the cork and drank deeply. He drained half the bottle, then poured the rest on the rock at his feet, the amber liquid taking on the appearance of golden fire in the light of the burning hive. "By the fire, I swear that you will never be forgotten Cornet, and I will uphold our legacy."

There had been no more talk of breaking away from the band, and everyone was in agreement that the Aristocrats was a perfect name for their motley crew. The name had unified them as nothing else had done. Ever since Lyre had left the Phoenix Guard he had felt adrift. But now he had a band to call his own, and an empire to claim. Fret had even began on a heraldry design for their band. A golden Coronet set on a harlequin background of blue and red.

Lyre set the bottle down on the rock, turning back to the Rhino and his destiny.


	2. Track 02: Youth is the Best Drug

"_You've gotta fight,_

_for your right,_

_to Par-tay!"_

_-Beastie Boys_

**Track 02: Youth is the Best Drug**

A squelch sounded in Clef's ear, ripping him from an otherwise pleasant state of unconsciousness. "Clef?" The earbead crackled. "You dead yet frakker?"

Clef picked his head up from some surface, his mouth tasted foul, his back and jaw singing out in their combined aches and pains. Somehow he was still sitting upright, on what and where, he would discover as soon as he could convince his eyelids to open.

"Clef?" the voice crackled a little more urgently. "Frakker better not have-"

"Here," Clef groaned, his throat sore and voice cracking. "Haven't joined Horus yet."

"Shred," the voice said in mock disappointment. "Better luck next time then. Get your ass back to the stage. We've got a new gig."

"Another rave? Shred, this one just got started," Clef opened his eyes to discover he was in a bar, or what was left of one, his armored bulk shared between a pair of stools. He had vague memories of coming in here around daybreak with Brak, a World Eater. Where there had been a wall, there was now a burning tank, sitting at an angle that was unusual for a chunk of metal that size. In the distance he could hear bolter and lasfire. Not even conscious for a full minute and already he was thirsting for battle once more. "I'll get there as soon as I can Fret."

Fret could hear the las and cannon fire over the earbead. "No, you get here now. We don't have time to play for coins in the street."

"Just one or two-"

"Clef," a new voice, like gravel scattered across velvet, came over the earbead. "Get your shredded arse back to the stage or you're out. Find a another band to run with."

Clef sobered quickly. The lure of combat temporarily overridden."Y-Yes. Returning now," he stammered. At some point the Boss must have grabbed the vox, that was if he hadn't been listening in already. Lyre was not known for his mercy or patience.

Clef slid off the stools, looking around for two things. First was his weapon. A Sonic Blaster that had been forged and crafted long before Clef had been born, and secondly his helm. His Sonic Blaster was at his side, hanging loosely by power cables and its shoulder strap. It was quiet and silent, for now.. His helm had been placed at his side on the bar. Clef picked it up then examined it to see if it had taken any damage. Armor was hard to come by. The helms ceramite had been patched and repaired so many times Horus only knew how it originally looked. He inspected the "face," the purple and black paint was a little worn, but still good, red eye lenses free of stars and cracks, the breather grill modified at some point in the past to resemble a mouth much like a lamprey or some other toothed creature, but otherwise good.

Satisfied, Clef tucked the helm under his arm, appraising his surroundings for any salvageable goods. He circled around behind the bar and found what he sought under a corpse; an unbroken bottle of amasec. Using his thumb he popped the cap and upended the bottle into his mouth. He felt the pleasant burn wash over numerous wounds on his teeth and gums, followed by the signature smokey bitter aftertaste. He lowered the bottle, then let the liquid slosh around his mouth, and spit it, along with some glass and broken teeth, into the nearest fire. The flames brightened briefly, then resumed their steady burn. Clef upended the bottle once more and this time drank deeply. For a moment he thought he heard a groan. He inspected his surroundings and confirmed that he was alone. Only then did he pull his helmet on and pick his way around the burning tank to the street.

Last night had been one shred of a party.

The morning sun had done no favors for the hive's survivors. Chaos ships in their number had descended upon this world the night before, eliminating key figures and positions with precise aerial bombardment just short of an orbital lance battery. A little after midnight local time, transports fat with corrupted armies sworn to whatever god of chaos pleased them that week, had landed or attempted to. Some transports had dropped their payload a few hundred meters too high in order to make the pressing deadline such a large scale assault demanded.

Clef stumbled up the brightened streets, shrouded in smoke with the sounds of war popping and cracking in other areas of the hive. Crowds of looters kept their distance from him, unwilling to become the object of his attention. Above him Clef could see the skyscrapers and buildings burning, covering the streets in ash. Distractedly he tapped his modified stim switch and felt his head begin to swirl, the colors of the world around him brightened, made ever more so by his enhanced senses. That was better. A rune in his HUD told him he was getting low on stims. Time to find more then.

As soon as boots hit asphalt the slaughter had begun. Clef remembered the screams, the fires, the explosions, sump dwellers erupting out of drains and vent shafts covered in blood that had washed in from every tier of the hive. The memories became clearer now that the drugs were working their way through his system. The arbites and PDF were horribly outnumbered and unprepared for the full fury and ruthlessness of the invaders. The city was weak after its most recent Imperial Guard tithe. The citizens had felt safe, their hive located on an otherwise boring chunk of rock deep behind the perceived borders of their beloved Imperium.

Their ignorance had made this attack successful. A full third of the hive was overrun or in flames by the time the Imperials had made a run for the primary spaceport which had fallen into enemy hands long ago. Clef grinned like an idiot when he recalled the faces of all the innocent cattle. Pale skin smeared in dirt and blood, watching their hive burn with glassy dark orbs. The disbelief, the indignation, the very _nerve_ of the invaders burning through their gaze.

Different warbands had rounded up the Imperials, separating them off into lines, taking inventory before sending them to the slave ships. Clef had just arrived at the party then. Given strict orders by Lyre to find and acquire supplies. However Clef wasn't above earning a few extra coins for himself, and provided some backup for the slavers by keeping the Imperials contained. He had walked down the lines, noticing the slavers had separated the more attractive women and kept them together. They had recoiled from Clefs presence, driven to tears and clutching at their clothes or few meager belongings.

One, he recalled, had been more bold than the rest, glaring at him defiantly with fierce green eyes. She didn't cower, and had spit on his boot as he passed, yelling "Death to all Traitor Marines!" Clef then felt the need to correct her at point blank range with his sonic blaster.

Noise. _Noise Marine._

Her body didn't so much explode as suddenly liquify. Covering her companions in fine warm red mist. The slavers were pissed that he had slain such a prize, but even they weren't stupid enough to mess with an Aristocrat.

Oh yes, last night had been one frak of a party.

Clef met up with a few of the slavers from the night before, acquired more stims, then found the rest of the Aristocrats, predictably enough, in the bombed out shell of a concert hall. The domed ceiling had caved in and rows of seating smoldering or ripped from the floor entirely to make way for the band's Rhino. Clef kicked a piece of fallen glass from his path, causing Fret to peek around a wall of storage crates, business end of a lasgun pointed at the source of the sound.

"You're late," Fret snarled, putting the lasgun down and going back to his work behind the crates.

"Missed you too," Clef scanned the room performing a quick head count, taking a moment to critique the colors and technique of the murals painted on the walls, then approached the little tech adept and watched him for a moment as he unloaded and repacked the crates around him. A pair of mechadendrites extended from Frets back, one ending in a pincer, the other in a chain blade. Clef felt a little put out. Usually an attack on an Imperial stronghold such as a hive wasn't only to gain territory, but more often than not, supplies. After the hives defenses fell, there would be plundering for days as an unending stream of cargo freighters and shuttles scoured the hive for wealth, munitions, materiel and slaves. For small warbands like the Aristocrats, it meant a weeks worth of killing, plundering, and perhaps even meeting up with a larger warband for another gig.

Fret sighed when he noticed he still had an audience. "Lyre was about to send Sonata after you. Frak, even Monody made it back before you." He slammed a lid shut, finally getting everything packed in as tight as he could.

Clef inwardly grimaced and looked around for Sonata. She was seated on a chase lounge, pulled somewhere from backstage no doubt, with the velvet stage curtains curled around her. At one point she had been stunning. At one point she had been a highly talented and decorated Seraphim in the Order of the Ebon Chalice. At one point the sound of her singing had inspired and moved legions of Imperial Guard to continue fighting. Then a stray bolter round had put an end to that.

Or at least that was the story she told. Sonata had joined Lyre before Clef, and made no effort to hide her dislike for the young Noise Marine. In her eyes Clef was a pitiful replacement for the one they had lost the day he came to them.

Clef crossed the floor, kicking the occasional seat from his path as he made his way to the front of the concert hall. Lyre stood waiting, head bowed and eyes closed, listening. A Noise Marine's sense of hearing was one thousand times that of a normal Space Marines, and Lyre used that to his advantage.

Lyre was a commanding figure in purple and black armor, worn down to the primer in some areas. Long white hair fell past his shoulders, framing delicate almost feminine facial features. He was lean, but powerful. Helm at his side, its yellow, mohawk-like crest stirring in the breeze. Red Widow hung loosely at Lyres side and bore more resemblance to a guitar than a weapon.

Red Widow was a stunning piece. A body of adamantium possessed by a powerful demoness. Strings that had been twisted with the guts and nerves of slain Imperial saints, clip slots for both bolter and lasrounds, all built around a heart of Eldar wraithbone. And when Lyre's fingers brushed her trembling strings, even the gods would pause to listen. In subsequent generations of Noise Marines, the instruments, the techniques, the very language changed and evolved as new heights of sound and stimulation were discovered. Their weapons no longer took on the appearance of instruments. Yet Red Widow and even Forsworn were works of art.

In contrast Clefs weapon was a more common. It bore more resemblance to a heavy bolter than an instrument. The strings running down its length were thicker and made of more durable material than Red Widows. Clef was still learning, and even though the weapon was strong, it was still no match for Lyre's mistress.

As if reading Clef's thoughts, Lyre brought his head up. For a moment his gaze seemed distant, as if straining to identify a tune on a broken vox before lifting his head and announcing to the band, "Get the Rhino loaded. The transport leaves in two hours," he lowered his head again, returning to meditation.

Clef waited for a moment. Usually after a night away from the rest of the band, Lyre would either humiliate him or berate him before the others. That he didn't even seem to notice Clef was there said that he was either very angry, or this was important. Clef hoped it was the latter.

A squawk from a vox amp sounded behind Clef, and he turned. Elision, another Noise Marine in their band stood next to a pile of munitions crates, and gestured for Clef to come assist in their loading. No servants for this band. No masses of easily manipulated scavengers to assist them with their luggage. Fret had three servitors, but that was the extent of their hired help. Thus far, Lyre had made no effort to acquire any more.

Elision and Clef had never seemed to click either. Elision was a massive brute in cobbled armor, and was not much good for conversation. Crasis and Monody were already in the rhino, packing up. Crasis was indifferent about Clef, yet Monody at least tried to be a friendly ear, even though he ended up spouting more nonsense scriptures than actual advice.

Clef stooped and grabbed the handles of another supply crate and carried it to the rhino. Another gig was another gig, and already he anticipated the embrace of his next battle. He backed up the ramp and set the chest down on the inside, then slid it along groves on the floor to lock it into place. Three chests lined up would make a bench for sitting or sleeping on. Before Clef left the rhino, he paused and glanced toward a wall that contained a hidden panel. Inside that panel, wrapped in velvet was Forsworn.

Clef would never forget that night, the feeling of power rushing through him as his hands slammed Forsworns strings, the Black Templars falling like regicide pieces over the side of the balcony. Lyre had stayed true to his word. He had made Clef a Space Marine, a Noise Marine. His body had been changed, his senses had become sharper. His blond hair had turned silver-gray and his brown eyes had changed to a sinister red-orange. In the ten years since leaving his home world and hive, Clef had become a fine young Space Marine, with a strong and balanced physic and good judgment. Yet Lyre insisted that Clef had much more to learn. And even longer to go before he would be allowed to ever place a hand on Forsworn again.

Clef left the rhino and returned with another chest, sliding it into the grooves on the floor and locking it before the secret panel guarding Forsworn. Within the hour, the Aristocrats had boarded a shuttle, then the transport, heading for the next rave.

* * *

From space, Garron VII wasn't much to look at. Another ball of near-lifeless dirt orbiting a sun with too many planets, like a mother surrounded by more mouths than she could hope to feed. Imperial presence was weak in this system, stressed between constant skirmishes and frequent warp storms. It seemed likely that Garron VII would become a Chaos stronghold within the month.

On board the transport, the Aristocrats had kept to themselves, and close to their equipment. Guarding both from the unwanted attention of other bands seeking loot and supplies, not to mention the ship itself. The ships of Chaos were like living things. Imbued with so much dark energy and demons bound to their hulls, they had a kind of sentience. Fret and his servitors remained on guard to ensure their rhino would not become part of the ship. Fights had already broken out in several holds, and the sounds and smells of combat were such sweet torture for Clef. Lyre held him in check, instructing him to focus his anticipation and desire into meditation and practice drills.

Once loaded on the shuttle and carried to the planets surface, Clef began to calm. Planet fall had its own little rewards for the Noise Marines. Even Sonata seemed to enjoy the rumble and growl of atmospheric entry. The shuttle delivered them to the surface of Garron VII, far enough behind the front lines to allow for time to prepare and move out. The as-yet unseen host of this party wasn't as careless as Clef had first thought.

A servitor drove the rhino, following the dust trail of others as they headed for the horizon at all speed. Lyre had gathered the band in the rear compartment. With several crates of supplies, spare pieces of armor and weapons, there was little room for the six warriors. Bluntly Lyre said, "We're fighting Orks."

Sonata sneered and rolled her eyes. "Orks? There will be nothing left to salvage. Let the turf-pounders handle Orks."

Elision nodded in agreement.

Lyre held a hand up for silence. "Orks are beneath us. Yet we have been invited all the same. The Orks have claimed a promethium refinery. We are tasked with taking it from them."

"A siege?" Crasis chuckled. "With Noise Marines and Orks? Who wants to take bets on how long before the entire compound blows up?"

"Its a possibility. But not why I chose to accept this gig," Lyre pointed to the nearest vision block. "Look outside."

Sonata turned and peered out of the scratched armorcrys. "I see a lot of rhinos and chimeras, a lot of different bands..."

"All Noise Marines," Lyre finished. "The invite list was almost exclusive to Noise Marines."

"We don't really play well together. Too many conflicting styles and views. Everyone wants to be a conductor," Clef added.

"Knowing that, what idiot would have summoned so many bands?" Monody said, peering out of a vision block.

"I have a few ideas," Lyre's fingers never strayed far from Red Widow. "Is everyone in?"

He caught the slight acknowledgments from his band. Contrary to what the Imperials believed, smaller warbands like the Aristocrats were democratic in their own way. Without the support of a large war engine or greater demon to back them up, the band leader had to ensure the protection and success of those that followed him. Too many bad gigs, too many deaths, and he would lose them, and possibly his own life in the process. And as Clef answered nearly every morning after a night of vox silence, he didn't want to join Horus just yet.

The rhino's engine growled as it began to climb. The path had led to a series of dusty foothills. Fret moved up to the cab, then signaled for Lyre. "Boss, you gotta see this."

Lyre thumped Clef on his shoulder and pointed upward.

Clef popped a hatch in the roof of the rhino, then pulled himself up. He sat on the lip and looked out over a large flat plain. He could see the refinery in the distance, the horizon line smeared with thick gray smoke. Hundreds of chimeras and rhinos had gathered, along with precious few elements of heavy infantry armor. Everywhere he looked he saw infantry in mismatched uniforms, or the bulky presence of Chaos Marines filling in gaps in the crowd. The rhino began its decent, and Clef sensed from the way the vehicle began to pick its way around the bigger potholes that Fret had taken over driving.

The refinery was set back against the steep sides of a mountain range. The flat plain that served as a staging ground for the various warbands had been a landing field for the large vessels that ferried promethium from the refinery to orbit. Burned carcasses of a few heavy transports dotted the landscape providing ideal cover. Fret turned the rhino and began driving through the camp. He didn't need directions to the staging ground for the other Noise Marines. He could hear them already.

Clef glanced back to the refinery. There was combat already taking place there. Mainly infantry and slaves seeking to earn favor from their masters. Already a collection of dead Orks had been piled before the gates like some grisly offering. Clef shifted his weight to make room for Elision as his fellow Noise Marine pulled himself up. Elision had seen many battles in stranger lands than Clef had and his perceptions were often dead on.

A staging ground in view of their target, just out of range of their cannons and so far no formal start to the fighting. There was anticipation in the air. Almost a carnival-like atmosphere as different warbands and Chaos Space Marines went through their various rituals of preparation. They were a strange group in the bright sun. Most attacks came under the cover of the night, and the wargear of those present reflected that mindset.

Elision's vox amp squawked and deep from inside his augmented throat a series of sounds gurgled. "This isn't a gig. Its an audition."

Fret urged the rhino past a group of naked blood covered fanatics with false wings and tails stitched to their backs. They writhed serpent-like, no doubt caught in the frenzy of some drug. Clef felt a grin tug at his lips as he beheld a riot of color and sound before them.

The Noise Marines were by far the largest group represented. Clef hadn't seen so many of his kind gathered in one place before. He recognized a few of the bands. The Jesters, Kimera Killers, Soul Scream, and many others he had never heard of before. Their many varieties of transports were arranged in a spiral. Stray Noise Marines had gathered in the open center, engaged in combat or other feats of skill to either secure a place in a new band, or perhaps summon enough support to establish their own.

As soon as Fret stopped the rhino and applied the air brakes, Clef moved to run and join the sparring matches. It took the combined effort of both Elision and Crasis to hold him back and keep him on the roof of the rhino.

"Your time will come," Lyre said calmly as if scolding a child. Clef was already caught up in the war chants around him, and the distant rumble of the Ork drums. Any kind of stimulation was welcome. Pain, pleasure, sound, light, all of them had their heights. Lyre knew Clef was still young and hadn't gained control over his impulses just yet.

"Shred," Clef groaned, looking out over the gathered crowd. "Let me go Lyre,"

Sonata joined them on the roof. "Lyre, southpaw."

Lyre glanced to his left and snorted. "Looks like we found out who is holding this audition. Its the _Swansong_."

Clef turned his attention from the sparring matches to the hills around the camp.

Dominating part of the skyline above the Noise Marine camp, was a instrument of legend. It had once been a Baneblade tank, but had since been tuned to a darker purpose. In addition to a Baneblade's already impressive range of weaponry, parapets, pulpits, balconies and other tiers had been added. Organ pipes of every shape and size sprouted out at crazed angles from every available surface. Wedged between the pipes and cannons were prisoners in various stages of mutation or surgical modification. A choir of naked torsos with contorted confused faces were arranged along the _Swansongs_ flanks. One tier above them was a string section where the unfortunates that had been bonded to the machine would draw bows made of bone across their own exposed tendons and nerves in arms and legs. The brass and woodwinds resembled a pile of twisted crying bodies, lanced through with pipes and horns, their stomachs rising and falling like obscene bellows. Drums were constructed from several humans, their bodies mutated and forced into shape with atrophied skin stretched over boney frames, and attended by chained minor demons.

The _Swansongs_ console had many layers of manuals, each with keys made from any variety of arcane materials. Clef could see one made of finger bones, another seemed to be made of ribs. The pedal boards were a butcher block of tormented faces, frozen in screams of agony. The stops on either side of the console were pull-knobs fashioned from the hands of children, closed into fists. Scattered among the fists were large glassy eyeballs. Trophies of past kills.

"Shred," Clef was nearly speechless in the presence of the war machine.

Lyre snapped his helm into place, and studied the surrounding slopes. As expected, next to the _Swansong_, dwarfed by her immense ranks of pipes were three figures. Two in the battle plate of the Black Legion, the third a tech adept, possibly the _Swansongs_ caretaker.

Clef jumped down to the rockcrete. "Think she will bless us with a performance?"

As if on cue, a deep bass rumble passed under their feet. Clouds of dust rose from either side of the _Swansong_ as its treads began to slowly turn, maneuvering its considerable mass closer to the camp before stopping again with another rumble.

The Noise Marines in their number grew quiet and still. Every head was turned and gaze locked upon the _Swansong_.

Haunted melodies began to drift in the wind as the choirs along the _Swansongs_ flanks began to wail and moan. Then a subsonic baseline pulsed rapidly. Clef grunted and dropped to one knee. He could feel the vibrations deep in his bones. His battle plate began to rattle in time with the intense infrasonic sound. Even Elision had closed his eyes for a moment of pleasure. The pulses of sound changed, beating out a pattern.

"Soresol," Sonata observed, climbing up next to Lyre.

"Yes," Lyre breathed. The feathered crest reverberated with the tones under their feet. "A libretto of the coming battle," he stood atop the rhino, his gaze shifting between the _Swansong_ and the other band leaders.

All too quickly, the rumbling ceased, and the choirs were silenced, leaving confusion to fill the void. The libretto made no sense. The orders were given for the Noise Marines to form the spearhead and lead the charge, seemingly throwing themselves on the enemies defenses. To be chosen as the spearhead was an honor, but Noise Marines were best used in a support role. There was little glory or sense in the plan as it stood. What purpose did it serve other than throwing them into a grinder?

The Noise Marine camp began to come to life once more, the spell was broken. Clef sat down on the lowered ramp and began to tune his sonic blaster for the coming battle. He could taste the excitement and tension in the air. "I don't like the libretto," he called up to Lyre. "Too open, like a clash of cymbals hitting the floor. Like they pulled out all the stops for it."

That comment stuck in Lyre's mind, and he turned back to the _Swansong_. He adjusted the optical magnification in his helm until he could see the organ console. All of the organ stops, every last one had been pulled out. He swept his gaze around at all the gathered Noise Marines, each in their own band or rack...like a rack of pipes. "Clef, you're a fool, but you have your moments."

"I do?"

Lyre brought Red Widow to his side, and tossed a power cable through the hatch to Fret. "Power, and amp. I need volume."

Fret gave an affirmative, and Lyre lifted his weapon, his fingers eagerly brushing along the string. A single chord, commanding and aggressive echoed over the gathered Noise Marines. Clef could hear a few members of the infantry cheering as if this was going to be some kind of performance. Lyre repeated the chord, louder and with more conviction this time. Clef looked across the Noise Marine camp. This chord was a call, understood only by other Noise Marines.

An answering trill came from the opposite side of the camp, followed by another growl and roar. One by one the band leaders answered, and as one, they went to work.

* * *

"And this is why Noise Marines are useless," Captain Oryx of the Black Legion growled. "I am charged with keeping this rabble under control, and there they are, deciding that on the cusp of battle it would be better to hold a _concert_.Emperor's Children indeed. Undisciplined, undignified, and ill-organized."

The tech adept raised his cowled head. "I beg to differ Captain," his vox cackled. "They aren't playing for amusement. They are speaking to each other. Assigning roles for the battle to come." For a manchine, he sounded amused. "They saw right through your little tactic to thin their numbers, and have instead plotted their own strategy...as I had said they would."

Oryx snorted. He hadn't wanted to have Noise Marines here. He could have easily had taken the refinery with the forces already at his disposal, but then came this tech adept with a message sealed by Abbaddon himself which gave him the right to summon forces as he saw fit. All part of some great experiment or another.

"This is not a test of might Captain. Which I am sure you have in abundance. I need to root out trouble makers, and determine how well they can fight as one unified force."

"You couldn't run your experiments elsewhere?"

Oryx could have sworn he heard a chuckle.

"Don't worry Captain. The promethium will be yours."

* * *

As each group claimed their role, another stop on the organ console pulled back. The libretto had said the attack would begin at sundown. The Noise Marines would march in with infantry support. Not that it was needed, but even the smallest instrument could still serve a purpose in a greater piece. Because of the nature of their target, the heavy armor would be used sparingly. Clef had to agree. If they wanted to use any of the promethium in the refinery, it wouldn't do to blast the place to the Eye and back. As the sun began to set, the air began to crackle with electricity as the various bands readied their weapons. The count was on, an instinctual crescendo of anticipation.

Clef swapped out his backpack for a newly charged fresh one. Their weapons plugged directly into the power supply at the source, and depending on the intensity of the battle, Clef had been known to drain three backpacks in a night. They left the rhino, and joined the other bands on the edge of the landing strip.

This was no longer a battlefield. This was a grand stage, and everyone had their part. Tactics, maneuvers, and strategies had already been agreed upon. Each movement, step and changeover had been a part of every Noise Marines training and heritage since they had Awakened. Clef could perform the maneuvers in his sleep. Lyre had spent countless days drilling each movement, note and counter move into him. They came as naturally as loading his bolter or holding his Sonic Blaster. The last rays of the sun faded from the sky, house lights dimming in preparation for the show. In the still air they could hear the war chants and drums of the Orks behind the walls of the refinery.

The _Swansong_ spoke once more. Not with a shot, or a chorus of screams, but with a sudden seismic tremor. The Noise Marines took up the call. Hours, and for some, days of sitting idle and restrained had finally broken. Clef raised his voice in harmony, beside him Lyre did the same. The infantry shot off shells that gave the advancing forces smoke for cover. Sonata took that as her cue, and she rose into the air using her jump pack, along with several other Warsingers Clef hadn't noticed before. Her pilfered stage curtains created an elaborate tattered cape around her that rippled with her war calls. The Orks on the fortified walls tried to find targets in the symphony of screams and battle chants. The stage was set, the curtain of smoke drawing back, and as it cleared, the smoke revealed segments of the performance.

Many Noise Marines had bright lights on their helms or thin glowing wires along their arms and legs, making the dark ground before the defensive wall appear to become a wavering mass of two dimensional lines. Squirming, wriggling, ripples of color flowing from one cluster of Noise Marines to another. Bright flickering lights to dazzle and confuse the senses, etching out horrible runes and sigals against the dark of the night. For a moment the Orks seemed confused, unsure of how to fight such a strange enemy that appeared to be made of nothing save for strange sounds and flickers of light. Then either a Nob or perhaps even a gretch fired off one of the cannons and the other Orks followed suit. They were firing blind, but it was more effective than nothing at all.

With a warcry on his lips, Clef advanced with his kin. Keeping pace and step, knowing that if he broke formation they would not hesitate to slay him. His Sonic Blaster was vibrant at his side, reacting to the excitement and promise of blood and death in the air. Lyre moved a step ahead, the colors on his armor pulsing with shared orders and commands from the other band leaders.

The Orks did manage to find targets. Aiming for larger groups of moving lines seemed to prove rewarding. Melodies rose and fell as infantry and Noise Marines expired in bright pillars of flame that illuminated their surrounding choirs. Occasionally the armor toward the back of the line would fire off a shot to keep the Orks heads down. The support was sporadic, the demonic engines were capricious on the best of days, and difficult to control when emotions were high.

Lyre scrambled up the wreckage of one of the burned promethium transports, providing a beacon of reference for the rest of the Noise Marines, then scanned the hastily assembled Ork walls for movement. He could feel the tension in their voices as the Orks within whipped themselves into a frenzy for the coming battle. The Noise Marines and infantry shared a common beat and pulse, unified by the many Warsingers and by the musical and visual commands of the band leaders. This was only the preamble, the Orks had yet to come onto the stage. But they were ready. Lyre could hear the gates mechanisms grinding and cries of "WAAAGH!" to rally their troops.

The pulsing chants from the Noise Marines increased in tempo and volume as a thin orange crease formed in the dark wall ahead of them. As soon as there was enough room for an Ork to push through the opening, they began to spill from the gate like pus from a wound. The Orks didn't realize it yet, but they had already been placed under the Noise Marines spell. Their calls and pounding of feet moving in perfect tune and rhythm to the shots flying past and into them.

Clef dropped his shoulder down, forming a solid line with his kin. Numerous bands, numerous creeds and ideals, but united for only one purpose in this moment. To crush, and conquer. They rushed forward to meet the greenskins. No instrument could ever accurately mimic the sound and fury of two opposing forces slamming into each other. The crunch of bones, the slam of armor against armor or flesh, the opportunistic shot, grunts of pain and the subtle rattle of weapons being drawn.

And yet...

There was still a sense of orchestrated order that did not escape the notice of Captain Oryx and his companions overlooking the field of battle. From their vantage point they could see the Ork spearhead punch through the front ranks, only for those same ranks to close behind, cutting them off from the main body of assault. Then the blast masters went to work, tightening the noose until not an Ork remained alive. The assault teams around them would then reset and pinch off another chunk.

"Its like they're eating them, consuming them." Oryx's sergeant observed.

Oryx snorted, growing more impatient every moment. He couldn't believe a bunch of guitar-toting fops were making a mockery of his battle plan. "If they want to eat, then I will shall oblige them." He opened his com bead. "Advance the second wave, tell their commanders to spare the promethium and slaughter everything else."  
Oryx expected some kind of remark from the tech adept, but the tall figure said nothing. Once again Oryx could swear the manchine was laughing under his breath.

* * *

Fret could hear the roar of the battle from his perch atop the unloaded supply crates. It wasn't his place to participate in the fighting, instead he remained behind, guarding the Rhino, repairing broken armor and trading with others in the camp for supplies and services. He sensed massive movement to the rear of the base camp, then stood and scanned to see what the fuss was about. A large mass of power armored bodies were running through the camp, trampling everything in their path. "Oh shred..." He opened the vox link to Lyre. Listening in on the Noise Marines command lines was much like sifting through underhive radio broadcasts. "Get ready Lyre, the tune's about to change."

"How so?"

"Uh..." Fret made a quick head count. "Estimation: two hundred World Eaters advancing on your position."

"Shred." Lyre could see the Orks gate beginning to close. "Seems the Orks have sensed them too." He sent off a growling chord to warn the other band leaders of the new arrivals from the rear. The news was met with loud ecstatic howls and a slight shift in the Warsinger's chants. Lyre then thumbed his vox. "Elision, summon up some of those frakkers and determine where that wall is the weakest. Clef, Sonata, lets welcome the new act with appropriate fanfare."

Already the Noise Marines modified their movements and tactics for the World Eaters. Communicating through flashes of colored light and timed weapons fire, the mass of armored bodies moved with one mind. Elision was indiscriminate as he ran through the crush. The Noise Marines searched through their number to offer up stray Orks and gretch, tossing them over their heads to push them to better killing grounds. Elision plowed through the mob, sometimes using his Master Blaster to rattle the odd Noise Marine from his path. This of course drew other Blaster wielders to him, and together they cut a path through the infantry to the wall.

Ork artillery whistled and howled far overhead, unable to adjust their aim far enough down to affect those at the gates, instead they focused their efforts on the distant threat of the World Eaters. Elision reached the wall, then cut left and began running away from the gate. The gate would be the most heavily armored and defended point. He stopped and the others formed up around him in a semi-circle. Elision pressed his ear to the wall and closed his eyes. Twenty meters above him the Orks began tossing grenades or attempting to fire down on his position. Crasis calmly pulled out a bolter and fired in brief staccato up the wall, splattering the surrounding metal and rockcrete with blood and brains.

Elision willed his hearts to slow and focused on his breathing. The wall seemed to be sturdy, but it was deceiving. The barrier had originally been designed to contain an accidental explosion from the landing field, but not to withstand a siege of this magnitude. It was constructed of many large chambers that in turn had been filled with water to absorb the force of an explosion. The Orks had covered it with many metal plates of varying thickness. Each one rang with the impact of weaponry from without and within, giving each section of the wall its own unique sound and vibration. In places the water had been drained away, leaving a weak point in the wall. He could hear dull places where the existing tanks absorbed the sound. But more importantly he could hear a hollow resonating chamber to his left, it rang and echoed with the impacts of the battle.

Elisions armor flicked through a pattern of colors, communicating the location and depth of the weak point. The others then set their weapons accordingly. Elision adjusted the power flow to his Master Blaster, and saw the lighting on his armor dim as his backpack tried to compensate for the increased draw. They then began to pummel the ground with an unending barrage of infrasonic concussive blasts. The sand under their feet became liquid-like, and they began to sink. Lights flickered as they adjusted frequencies to complement and compensate for various densities. Finally Elision called a halt when he felt what he had been waiting for. The foundation had been compromised.

The Noise Marines stopped and pulled themselves out of the sand, then backed away from the wall.

"Elision? Did you get it?" Clef called over the vox.

Elision grumbled a reply.

"I still see a wall Elision!" Clef shouted impatiently.

Elision chuckled darkly over the vox. "Not for long."

The World Eaters cascaded onto the battlefield, bringing their own roars and thunderous pounding to the performance. The warsingers changed their pitch to a series of melodic calls. Heralding the arrival of these powerful warriors.

Even Captain Oryx had to pause. The sight before him seemed to have been perfectly rehearsed. The army of Noise Marines and infantry parted, creating a wide path to allow the World Eaters to pass through unhindered, save for the odd pocket of Orks that just seemed to whet their appetite. When a group of World Eaters tried to break away, the Noise Marines reacted as one, using concussive blasts to return the strays to the path. All the time shouting challenges and slapping the red shoulders as they passed through to drive the World Eaters into a greater frenzy.

Clef had a front row seat for the rolling pulse of the World Eaters' passing. He tossed his head back, howling and shivering with delight at the impact of hundreds of ceramite boots impacting on stone at a full run. Lyre had rejoined him in the fray, and that was the only thing that soured Clefs mood. He wanted to enjoy this trance without Lyre ruining it for him.

The World Eaters drew close to the containing wall, and another rumble joined their pounding feet. The wall began to crumble and collapse at the approach of the beetle-like masses. Noise Marines, World Eaters, and infantry alike raised their voices in calls of triumph as the wall fell, seemingly overpowered by the sheer presence of such powerful foes.

"Frakkin' supreme Elision!" Clef howled over the vox. Elision responded with a sharp squelch, that tingled as it set in Clefs ear. That was the closest thing that old battle ax had given Clef to appreciation.

The effect was equally as powerful on the Orks. With their primary defense breached, most ran, others picked up weapons to fight, still others scrambled over the rubble before the dust had even settled, eager for close combat. Empowered by the collapse of the wall the World Eaters increased their pace and pressed into the breach. The Noise Marines folded in behind them, quite content as a whole to let their more bloodthirsty cousins take the brunt of first impact.

Clef was practically shaking with anticipation. This is what he lived for, the crush of bodies, the smash and rattle of armor, the screams of the wounded and challenging bellows of the victors. Already his veins surged with more adrenaline and exotic cocktails of the various drugs in his armor. More, always craving more. More sound, more intensity, more of everything. His thoughts began to ignite with images of battle and-

Clef felt Lyre smack the back of his helmet, knocking him out of his thoughts. His sonic blaster seemed to echo his annoyance. "Shred off." Lyre said. "Be back by daybreak."

All other retorts and curses faded on Clefs tongue. He didn't need to be told twice. He felt like a rabid beast that had been freed from its chain. He could feel the vibrations in the ground through his armor and bones. The sounds of battle in turn filled him with fury as he ran to catch the World Eaters and Noise Marines that had gone before him. Other Noise Marines pressed through the gap in the wall, howling with warp screams or using their blast masters to widen the breach to allow chimeras and rhinos through. Riots of color and sound assaulted him and Clef felt a howl of pure delight build in his throat. He shouldered his way through a pair of Noise Marines, reveling in the sensation and sound of ceramite grinding and squeaking past.

The opposite side of the breach was an assault on all of his senses. Doom sirens wailing, sonic blasters howling and blastmasters calling out formation and battle code. The World Eaters chanted in time and roared as they swarmed the refinery like so many carnivorous insects.

The Orks were on the backfoot, setting fire to nearly everything that would catch. Small streets and catwalks were choked with the dead. It was slaughter, pure mindless, gratifying slaughter.

Clef scaled a mountain of bodies, determined to slay his share of Orks before the World Eaters could get them all. The mountain of flesh had led him to a series of cat walks, and he took a moment to gain his bearings.

The refinery was much bigger than he had anticipated. The catwalk led to a balcony that overlooked a massive cone-shaped hole in the planets crust. More catwalks and even roads clung to the edges of the cone. Spiraling deeper before vanishing into smoke and darkness. Scattered glow globes lined the roads and gantries, and massive pipes carrying Horus only knew, broke the otherwise hypnotic visual. Clef was far from the first to have arrived. Noise Marines and World Eaters ran along the pipes or down the roads. Shooting at explosive-lobbing gretch as they ran.

Clef saw a group of gretch near him on a pipe, then grinned as he brought his blaster around and let loose one of the chords that Lyre had taught him, sending a shockwave racing along the pipe. What the attack lacked in speed, it made up for in other ways. The gretch either instantly became pulp, their bones and muscles rendered to liquid the moment the shockwave hit them, or jumped to their deaths to avoid the same fate.

His appetite for destruction whetted, Clef grabbed the hand rail and made ready to vault over. Suddenly a large powerfist grabbed his backpack and pulled him backwards, away from the edge.

"No you don't Noisy fragger."

Clef spun and raised his blaster. "Shred off-" He paused when he recognized the hamburger-like face glaring at him. "Brak! I didn't know you could speak Ork!"

"Should have broken your skull along with your jaw." Brak growled, running past Clef and over the railing. The World Eater landed on a massive pipe and kept running. Clef watched as Brak approached a bend, but didn't slow, instead the World Eater jumped, his powerfist outstretched. He gained purchase on another pipe in a shower of sparks. Not to be outdone, Clef followed.

"You aren't going to out-crazy me frakwit!" Clef followed then jumped at the bend. Weightless for a moment, legs pumping futilely in mid-air, the sudden rush of color, fear, and certain death was almost too much, but before Clef could fully succumb to the rush, Brak grabbed him by the top knot on his helm and lobbed him in another direction.

Clef howled with delight as his body sailed toward a cluster of Orks manning a heavy stubber. He managed to rip another wave of sound from his blaster before slamming bodily into the largest Ork. His momentum carried him over the brutes filthy shoulder, rolling along the top of his backpack unit before he dropped to the ground off-balance and landed on his back. Not shaken in the slightest, Clef arched his back, rising up on his toes and shoulders and then unleashed a devastating chord at point blank range.

The sound ripped the walls and powered the bones of the Orks closest to him. Clef laughed madly as others held their ears as noses bled and eyeballs ruptured. Brak landed with a meaty thunk a moment later, slamming the last few with his powerfist. Clef stilled the strings then kicked, bringing himself to his feet again. Brak rumbled past him, hellbent on some unknown destination.

There was no shortage of Orks to slay. They kept coming, and to Clefs delight, kept dieing. The Noise Marine was blood soaked and engorged on the thrill of battle. Eager to do more, Clef increased the power output to his weapon, putting more of a drain on his armor. He kept in Braks shadow, allowing the World Eater to bear the brunt of the Ork attacks while offering support and cover.

As they fought their way further down the spiral, Clef caught glimpses of his bandmates engaged in their own battles. Sonata had teamed with a few other Warsingers, and they flitted like dark furies over and around the Orks, her curtain-cape now shared among her sisters. Elision and Crasis were bringing down chunks of infrastructure to the hoots and howls of other Noise Marines, and even more rarely, Clef heard the chilling tones of Red Widow echo down the spiral. Lyre had a way of reaching beyond the walls of sound and grasping his victims by their desires and emotions. Such a gift was wasted on Orks.

At the base of the refinery, Clef could make out where the roads terminated at a large iris-like door set in the ground. He turned and began to head for this point. At first he couldn't determine why. He could feel a rumble under his feet, subtle, unlike the explosions and other sounds of war. A rhythm. A beat, a pounding that tugged at his senses.

Brak sent another few Orks flying over the edge of the roadway, then called after Clef. "Where you going?"

"Down there." Clef pointed. "The war boss is past that door. I can hear war drums."

Brak joined him at the edge, examining the iris. Other World Eaters and Noise Marines were already there, looking for an opening. Clef stepped back and into cover behind a support pillar. "Machinery. Something big is coming." Brak slipped behind another pillar and kept his weapons ready.

The iris began to open, spilling Chaos Marines into the void below. The ground began to rumble with combined bellows of "WAAAGH!" accompanied by intense drumming. Summoned by the call, Orks from all over the refinery came running, falling back and regrouping into ranks more suited to fight their invaders. The iris was now fully opened and a huge lift from below began to rise.

A pair of cranes emerged first, covered in Orks and gretch. As soon as they surfaced, they began to spray fire in all directions. Heavy bolters had been strapped to several areas on the cranes, and they opened on the Noise Marines and World Eaters with a vengeance. The cranes then began to swing a pair of spiked wrecking balls. They swung wildly, clearing away both Marines and Orks alike. Clef whooped with unbridled glee as one of the spiked metal orbs cleared an entire roadway of two rhinos, several Noise Marines, some roaring World Eaters, and what seemed to be an entire platoon of Orks, all reduced to one long red chunky smear.

Between the two cranes, stood the war boss. He was easily the biggest Ork Clef had ever seen. Heavily modified and augmented, his arms had been replaced with massive pincers that shot out and grabbed anyone who came to close. A gretch sat in a sleeve on his back, blasting away with a laspistol.

"Those wrecking balls won't last long." Brak commented. Already both World Eaters and Noise Marines were testing their marksmanship to see who could snap the many chains and wires holding them in place. Only the constant barrage of bolts and other projectiles from the scaffolding slowed them.

Brak reached out and grabbed Clef's shoulder plate.

"This again?" Clef said dumbly.

Braks abused face split into a feral grin. "Payback for leaving me under that tank."

"Where wa—that was you? Look, I'm sorry, but not center stage. You throw me in center stage and everyone is going-"

"Not my problem." With a hearty roar, he heaved Clef into the fray.

Almost as soon as Clef left the safety of the pillars, several bolt guns were trained his way. He gripped his blaster and brought his feet before him. Hoping to make a safe landing some twenty meters down, he threw all caution to the flames and converted all power to his blaster. Blue arcs crackled around him, making the feathers and hair on his helm's topknot extend outward. The energy extended to his fingers as the blasters thick strings began to glow with eldrich fire.

The world slowed as he felt the chords pass through him, summoned up from the depths of his soul with fury and determination. The Sonic Blaster's familiar pulse and growl had become a high keening wail, a roar, a scream of torment and a cry of delight, or pleasure and pain entwined so tightly it could only be a prayer. An attempt to give voice to the fury of a god. He felt the impact of the ground slamming into his boots as he rode the lightning fire down to the killing floor. He dropped to one knee, the chords still ripping across the strings and over his body. A bright blue concussive wave spread outward from his core, throwing Orks to the walls and over turning machinery.

Using this distraction, other Noise Marines and World Eaters advanced on the Orks, coming from behind cover. Over head a World Eater had managed to land on a wrecking ball and sever the chains for good, sending the mass of metal and blood into an overlooking roadway.

Clef ripped his fingers down the strings, sending waves of energy outward along with a few Orks. He felt so alive, as if his very soul was igniting the strings of his blaster. His HUD began to flash warning runes, his backpack was now at less than fifteen percent power, and any further and he would risk his armor locking up completely. But the tide had been turned. The remaining wrecking ball swung in, passing behind Clef, knocking a few Noise Marines that had ventured too close away. Now that Clef had stopped glowing, the Orks on the scaffolding were finding their range.

Before the Sonic Blasters voice could fully fade, a clear note seemed to fill the killing floor with sudden clarity. The warsingers had arrived, and with them, re-enforcements. Another hungry scream joined Clefs blaster before the strings stilled, and Clef chuckled lowly when he felt the familiar presence of Red Widow and Lyre at his side.

"Thought you would have all the fun without me?" Lyre said over the vox.

"Just softening them a little." Clef struggled to gain his feet. With lower power levels in his back pack, the bulk of his armors weight rested on him.

The Orks were outmaneuvered and outmatched. A group of World Eaters had climbed one crane and slaughtered the greenskins there. The remaining wrecking ball had been caught in a tangle of wires on one of the roadways.

Lyre picked up the chords where Clef had left off, while Clef fired a few bolt rounds from the hip, allowing Brak and his small force to advance on the Warboss.

Without the aid of the cranes, the Warboss was horribly exposed. A rain of bolts drove him backward, chainaxes relieved him of his claws and a moment later, his life. The remaining Orks began to flee, with their attackers in pursuit.

Clef launched himself after them, knowing that his armor would slowly charge. Somewhere to his side he heard the krump of a krak grenade, yet ignored it. There was still more blood to be spilled, more glory to be won. Over his vox he could hear Lyre shouting, but Clef was lost in the moment, and all warnings came too late.

He barely had time to turn and acknowledge that the explosion he had dismissed, had freed the wrecking ball. With his armor weighing him down and powerless, Clef was hit dead-on, lifting his feet from the floor, shattering his armor and breaking bones. At some point he blacked out, unable to determine if Horus had come for him at last.

With his bandmates name on his lips, Lyre ran to the place where Clef had stood, bending to reverently collect the dropped Sonic Blaster from the ground.

* * *

"Clef? Clef?"

His earbead squelched, bringing Clef back to the land of the living.

"Clef?" Came Frets voice. "You dead yet frakker?"

Spitting out a tooth, Clef responded weakly. "Not yet."

"Shred." Fret sounded relieved instead of annoyed. "Better luck next time. Er...where are you?"

Clef let his head roll to the side to look around. "Some place high."

"Well, get your arse back to the stage. Lyre's got us a new gig."

"Already?" Clef chuckled, as a deep pain settled in his chest, feeling like something important was broken. "But we just got started."


	3. Track 03: The Chaos Path

"_A collection of particles held together  
By the force of a soul and it's memory.  
Be warned you stand on the edge of infinity;  
Where coloured waves will lead the way into the void.  
Fear tangled with despair.  
This ghastly symphony of malice.  
Oh well, the maddening laughter  
Growing louder with the memories now.  
Atoms like incense rising."_

_-Arcturus, "The Chaos Path"_

* * *

Track 3: The Chaos Path

The refinery had been taken. Between the combined might of World Eaters and Noise Marines, the Orks had put up a laughably weak resistance. This convinced Captain Oryx of the Black Legion that the tech adept's folly extended beyond the demand to invite so many undisciplined bands. Both Noise Marines and World Eaters had been driven into a frenzy by the battle. Already large plumes of smoke rose above the gray ruins of the refinery. They needed to withdraw soon if there was to be anything left.

The tech adept in question stood near one oversized piece of track plating near the Swansong, conversing with a couple of humans dressed in purple and white uniforms. Personal servants by the look of things, and healthy. Very healthy. Perhaps the celebrated commander of the Swansong himself was finally going to make a show instead of sending this tech adept in his place.

"Cog-head," Oryx called.

The manchine ignored him.

Having been slighted for the last time, Oryx drew his bolt pistol and fired. One of the servants head and upper body exploded in a satisfying shower of gore. The remaining servant had the audacity to look horrified, like some Imperial runt whose homeworld had been overrun. The tech adept on the other hand took upon very human-like body language, and wiped bits of brain matter from his robes in disgust.

"Now that I have your attention," Oryx leveled the bolter at the remaining servant. To his surprise, the tech adept stepped between them. "You had better have a good reason for this cog-boy."

The tech adepts shoulders sagged as he shrugged. "Oh this is more than enough of that shred. Sargent, if you would."

A power sword was suddenly thrust through Captain Oryx's stomach from behind, then withdrew just as quickly. Oryx dropped to his knees, reaching for a weapon that was no longer there. His chainsword and bolter were already in his Sargent's hands. "Betrayer!"

"Oh as if you weren't expecting it," the tech adept said. He stood before Oryx, and held his long arms open wide. His robes appeared to lift and move away in sections, revealing not a mass of cogs and cybernetics, but a single lean Space Marine, dressed in a neatly tailored three-piece suit. Small servo skulls and automata in the shape of little winged demons collected his robes and flew away toward the _Swansong_. The Space Marine was clean and healthy, a far cry from the dirty greasy masses destroying the refinery. His short hair was gray-white, and his eyes glittered like pink jewels. Like most of the Emperors Children, his features were delicate, almost feminine. He spent a moment tugging on his cuffs and inspecting the deep purple fabric of his suit before tapping the dust off his leather shoes and advancing on Oryx.

Oryx had heard of this frakker, but didn't believe the pompous ass actually existed until now. "Rufatti."

"Oh, so you do know who I am. Saves me the trouble of introductions," he pulled a pair of gold-rimmed eyeglasses from his pocket and slipped them on. This very image of a businessman could not have been more out of place on the battlefield.

Despite the wound, Oryx was still livid. "You traitorous bastard! Abbadon will hear of this!"

"Tsk tsk," Rufatti held his hand out and the servant came forward and placed a plasma pistol in his palm. "Abbadon already knows. He personally assigned me to this task."

"He would never-" Oryx was silenced as Ruffati pulled the trigger on the plasma pistol, blowing one of Oryx's arms clean off.

"He wouldn't?" Rufatti grinned. "Or...perhaps you were sure he wouldn't _notice_ that you had shorted him on the last promethium gathering mission you had?"

"I did no such-"

This time Rufatti took off a leg. "Keep talking and you're going to run out of limbs. You're a horrible liar, but have a decent baritone. I might just allow you to serve the remainder of your days on the Swansongs choir," he leaned in closer. "Now back to the point. You had left Safarn with six tankers of promethium, yet only gifted Abbadon with four. Who received the other two?"

"The tanks weren't full to begin with! I had to condense-"

"Who?" Rufatti calmly sang, blasting off Oryx's remaining arm.

"Ahh!" Oryx finally gave. "I sold it to the Red Corsairs for munitions!"

Ruffati had the plasma pistol trained on Oryx's remaining leg. "Good, because that's where I found them."

Oryx coughed. "You knew? You knew already and still insisted on a confession?"

Ruffati shrugged. "You frakwit. Who do you think supplies _them_?" he turned to his servant, placing the plasma pistol back down on a waiting satin pillow. "You're lucky I was around before they could pay Abbadon's tithe with that looted promethium. The Thirteenth Crusade would be taking place in the Eye itself instead of against the Imperium, as it should be," he then spoke to his servant. "Have his remaining leg removed, and fix him to the third tier baritones."

Ruffati's servant took the plasma pistol from the pillow, then smiled with vindictive satisfaction as he advanced on the fallen Marine.

"Wait! I can-"

"Sorry Oryx, our lunch date is over, I have some follow-ups to perform for this audition. A bit of belated advice. Think before you start destroying the property of others," Ruffati walked away calmly, Sargent Adek falling into step behind him, followed by a few more human servants in purple and white uniforms. Walking tall and indifferent to his surroundings, Ruffati started toward the Noise Marine camp.

* * *

"Sonata? Have you found him yet?" Lyre called into the vox.

"Negative."

Lyre cursed and ran along another catwalk, lowering Red Widow and using a pulse to pulp a few gretch in his path. Fret had lost vox contact with Clef an hour ago, the only clue they had to his whereabouts was "some place high."

The whole refinery was turning into "some place high,"constructed of so many levels of catwalks, balconies, landings, splits in the piping, supervisory stations and platforms. Sonata had taken to the skies to help search for Clef, reporting back as she needed to. Elision and Crasis were still down in the refinery proper, giving excitement filled status reports as they continued to flush Orks out of the many nooks and crannies in the refinery.

Any other band would have left Clef for dead. Any other band would have divided his share of the loot and moved on. But the Aristocrats were not any other band. Word of their deeds had spread fast, helped along in no small part by Monody. The Aristocrats were quickly becoming a warband of legend, and even Crasis delighted in the ramblings of the rumor mill. Infantry and other small warbands told stories of the Aristocrats; that when given a mission to collect a corrupt Imperial commander, they had burned an entire hive to the ground in their efforts to find him. Lyre and Cornet had already had the reputation of twin demons, but now stories were passed along that Cornet had risen to the ranks of deamonhood and the Aristocrats were one of the most bloodthirsty warbands of Noise Marines still working. Horus save the soul whom drew their ire.

Lyre did nothing to disprove the rumors. If he had learned anything from working with the Night Lords in his past, it was that fear and a strong reputation went hand in hand.

"Fret," Lyre paused and called into the vox again. "Any luck?"

"Still no sign Boss. His locator beacon must be smashed."

_That wasn't all that had been smashed,_ Lyre thought. He had called out to the frakwit, tried to warn him about the wrecking ball, but his cries had gone unnoticed when Clef was in the heat of the moment. Clefs Sonic Blaster was wasted. The combined impact of the wrecking ball and the abuse Clef put his weapons through had turned the instrument into a lump of scrap. Weapons were expensive, and Clef needed to be more careful.

Red Widow wasn't all that happy either. She wanted her slave to be down with Elision and Crasis, harvesting souls to feed her appetite, not looking for some lost scrap of meat until dawn. Lyre tried to raise her to fend off another swarm of gretch. The weapon bucked and struggled in his hand, throwing off his aim.

"Now is not the time Red," Lyre hissed, asserting his will over the unruly spirit and dispatching the gretchin. Oh she was good and pissed now. He paused for a moment, gaining control over his breath and trying to soothe his mistress' temper. Red Widow became heavy and dormant in his hands. Her stance was simple. She would only grant her gifts if there was something in it for her.

Lyre listened to the wind in the guy wires, and inwardly enjoyed the small reprieve from her constant nagging. The world was never truly quiet, even when the sounds of battle had faded, there was still some sound. Lyre removed his helm and closed his eyes, letting his head drop back and rest against the top of his backpack.

Even here there were sounds. The thrum and excitement of battle far below, the whistles and howls of the wind as it blew through the structures around him. Subtle rattles and clanks of machinery, the distant thumps of artillery. He could hear the scratching of clawed feet as gretchin searched for another place to hide, even the distant whir of the Warsingers jump packs. Lyre sorted through these sounds, ignoring some, monitoring others, searching for the one sound, the one note in this whole symphony around him.

_Ba-dump._

Lyre felt relief and concern pull him in opposite directions. With eyes still closed, he turned his head to pinpoint the source of the sound. Straining, searching, he waited to hear it again. Where?

_Ba...dump_.

That was too long, and the rhythm was off. Lyre opened his eyes and began running, following the sound of Clefs heartbeat. No, that was wrong too. Clef would have four beats, not two. That was bad. Two beats would mean that one of hearts had malfunctioned or become damaged. Slinging Red Widow to his back, Lyre leapt from pipe to pipe, silo to silo, tracing the source of the sound.

His foot falls echoed on the corrugated metal roof of some supply shed. His steps weren't as light now that Red Widow was taking the frak. Lyre's pace increased as he heard another feeble half-beat of Clefs hearts. He slowed as he approached the edge of a silo and peered over. Bolts and rebar stuck out from the rockcrete at strange angles, the only remnants of scaffolding that allowed access to this high perch.

Clef was there, laying face-up on a staircase, that was now leaning precariously over a deep drop. From here Lyre could see into the heart of the refinery, straight down the dazzling spiral and to the distant remnants of the Warboss' cranes. The wind picked up, causing the stairs and scaffolding to shift and sway. Lyre knew that his added weight would probably rip the remaining supports free and topple both of them over the edge.

"Sonata," Lyre keyed his vox. "Lock in on my signal. I found him," he grabbed the edge of the roof and slowly lowered himself down feet-first onto the scaffold. As predicted the structure groaned and a few pieces tumbled into the abyss. "Clef?" Lyre reached his side. "Come on frakker, wake up."

The wind played with Clef's silver-gray hair. Lyre didn't even want to think about where his helmet had gone to. "Lyre? Am I in trouble?"

"Not yet," now that he was closer he could get a better look at the damage done to his bandmate. Clefs armor was frakked. The entire left side of his body looked like crackle glass. His left arm was folded over his chest and the right held weakly to the railing. Lyre didn't need an apothecary to tell him that the internal damage was severe.

Lyre looked up at the rumble of a jump pack. Sonata alighted on a piece of railing that seemed sturdy at first glance, but gave way as soon as her weight settled on it. The entire scaffold began to groan and drift away from its anchoring points.

"Shred," Lyre snagged Clef before he could slide off. "Sonata, grab Clef and take him back to Fret."

Reacting quickly, Sonata grabbed Clefs right arm, and activated her jump pack again. As his weight settled on the joints in his arm, Clef howled in pain, a bit of his Warp Scream ability punctuating his discomfort. Lyre and Sonata winced, their ears pounding. The scaffolding bent and buckled with the force of the scream, spilling Lyre out into empty air.

Lyre pulled Red Widow before him with a smooth practiced move, and tried her strings. The bitch was still throwing a fit, and the chords twanged dumbly. Walls and ledges swept past him. He issued his own Warp Scream at full volume, the single warp-spawned note echoed off the structures around him, and helped to propel him back into clearer air away from any obstructions. From below he heard a few answering screams from Doom Sirens, accompanied by the growl and calls of several Noise Marine weapons. Lyre felt his body slow, but it still wasn't enough.

_Red, by Fulgrims left nut, if I survive this fall, I swear I will make sure you starve for the next ten years, contract or not!_ Lyre hissed inwardly. A few more Noise Marines joined the chorus, and this time Red Widow flared to life. Her voice complementing the others, slowing Lyre considerably, allowing him to make a rough, but survivable landing on one of the wider road ways.

Lyre wasn't surprised to find he was in the middle of a ring of Noise Marines from various bands. Monody, Elision, and Crasis among them. A Noise Marine stepped out from the crowd, his armor covered in many colors and symbols, giving the appearance that a graffiti-covered wall had been somehow twisted into the shape of a Space Marine. His helm had spikes extending from the top, in a mohawk-like crest. He extended a hand in greeting. "Darren of Forlorn Hope. You Aristocrat frakkers don't play around do you?"

Lyre accepted his hand. "Thanks."

"No, thank you," Darren looked skyward, then turned to a similarly painted section of the gathered crowd. "Alright, shatterbrains. I'm next!" with a rebel yell of excitement, Darren and a few others began to climb upward, eager to test this new thrill for themselves.

Lyre looked upward toward the winged silhouette of Sonata and keyed his vox. "I'm alright. Get Clef back to Fret."

Only then did Sonata heave Clef over one shoulder and head back toward the staging ground.

* * *

Lyre made it back to the Rhino by dawn. Somehow the refinery had managed to make it through the night without getting completely demolished by the combined efforts of Noise Marines and World Eaters. A feat that would probably never be repeated anytime this century. The Noise Marine camp was quiet, and Lyre found himself walking the staging grounds to familiarize himself with the various bands represented.

Some of the bands had erected more stable headquarters in the form of prefabricated habs, others expanded their territory through tents. He saw very little Noise Marines themselves, but plenty of their support staff. Tech adepts slipped through gaps between transports, servants cleaned or prepared meals, enginseers worked on various forms of equipment and everywhere were small stands and stalls set up for trade. Anything a warrior could desire was up for sale. Weapons, ammunition, armor, repairs, medical treatment, pleasure houses filled with drugs and all forms of carnal desires. There were also trinkets in the form of jewelry or small idols of the various forms of Chaos Undivided, as well as make-shift temples dedicated to individual gods...and food. Lyre could smell cook fires through the dust, the scent of charred flesh, recaff and various teas. His stomach twisted and he was reminded that he hadn't eaten for at least a week.

He stopped by a stand and bought several loaves of hard bread that had been stuffed with fillings. Small children that had been working the flames packaged them in a paper bag and accepted small gold coins as payment. Lyre knew he had overpaid, but the smell of the loaves was enough to make him loose with his money. He could tell by the scent that the filling was most likely ork meat mixed with various crumbled meal bars with some form of blood gravy. As a Space Marine he could stomach that easily. Sonata might be a little more picky, even though the Warsinger had developed a bit of an iron stomach during her stay with the band. Funny how lack of food could completely reset what a body would and wouldn't use as sustenance.

Lyre arrived at the Rhino, and Fret was leaning over Clef's prone body near the rear hatch. Sonata was further inside, her armor already having been removed so she could inspect it and make small repairs. Lyre set the bag down, pulled out a loaf and bit into it. At this point he didn't care if the inside was ground demon. The sharp spices and juices were welcome after the long night.

Fret had removed Clefs armor. Most of it lay in pile near the corner. Lyre didn't need to ask how Clef was doing, he could see the swelling beneath the Noise Marine's bodyglove, and the purple bruising over his exposed hands and feet. "I ain't gonna lie Boss," Fret sighed. "Its not looking good."

Lyre nodded slowly. "I saw the Jesters had their tents up. I'm going to go see if Pierrot can lend us an apothecary for a reasonable price. Sonata, grab a weapon. You're accompanying me."

Sonata came forward from the interior of the Rhino. "Sure, let me put on a robe though," she picked a loaf from the bag. "Thanks for breakfast. How long are we going to be here?"

"Not sure. I assume Elision and Crasis are out looting?"

"You know it," Sonata bit into the loaf and smiled. "Wow...not sure what this is, but its good. Hey Clef, you better get well soon, or Monody will eat your share."

"Speaking of, where is he?" Lyre hadn't seen their resident codex thumper since the assault began.

Fret answered that one. "Last I saw he was leading a sermon in one of the makeshift temples. Whatever keeps him happy I suppose."

Lyre finished his loaf, then turned and started toward the center of the Noise Marine camp. Sonata fell into step beside him, pulling a hood over her head. Huge multicolored tents had been erected near the eastern side of the camp. Yellow and red striped canopies broke the horizon line with flag topped peaks. It would be good to see Pierrot again, and walk among the Jesters once more.

Sonata had heard the Jesters were old allies of the Aristocrats. Lyre and Cornet had been taken in by Pierrot, their leader, eons ago when they had escaped from the Kakaphony. Pierrot had welcomed them even though it put his own band in danger. He trained and taught them the ways of Noise Marines outside of Toserian's influence, and even managed to get a pair of soulless blanks to learn to enjoy living again. Sonata hadn't met Pierrot before, but knew of him from Cornets stories. Lyre remained quiet on their journey, and she couldn't help but wonder how he felt going back to visit his old band.

Lyre and Sonata reached the front entrance of the Jesters tents. She could smell the incense already, hear the playful rustle of small bells from deep within the maze of the fabric. Not breaking stride, Lyre walked past a pair of humans in clown make-up standing guard. Inside the incense grew stronger, its hallucinogenic properties already drawing her into their spell. After drawing a curtain of deep green velvet aside, Lyre and Sonata stepped into the tent proper.

Sitting on brightly colored crates were numerous humans in acrobat clothing. Vibrant masks lined the support poles and colorful whimsical fabrics hung from places far above. They turned as Lyre and Sonata entered, some shying back to hide, and others somersaulting toward them as bells on their clothing tinkled. The floor was covered in sawdust and smelled fresh and sweet. She could see a few Space Marines standing along the outer walls, checking weapons or replacing backpack units.

One, a tech marine in brightly painted green and yellow armor put down his oversized bolter and came over to greet the newcomers. "Lyre!" his helm was painted to resemble a frightening white clown face with a sinister grin. "I never thought I'd lay eyes on you again!" he removed it and hung it at his side, revealing a youthful face with sharp eyes. His right ear was missing, covered in scar tissue that had probably come from either a close call with a melta gun, or highly corrosive acid.

"Good to see you too Pedrolino," Lyre and Pedrolino exchanged a warriors greeting, gripping each others wrist and shaking firmly.

"And who is this gem?" Pedrolino grinned, an expression that Sonata was still getting used to seeing on Space Marines. Before joining the Aristocrats, all Astartes she had encountered had been somber and focused with sour features.

Lyre nodded toward Sonata and she drew her hood back. "I am called Sonata, Warsinger of the Aristocrats."

"Are you the one keeping this rascal out of trouble?" Pedrolino laughed. Yet another display of emotion that she was unaccustomed to. Crasis and Elision would often joke with each other, but their expressions were hard to read and in some cases the subtleties went over her head. Lyre was the more somber of the group, any emotion he displayed seemed to be a programmed response rather than actually felt. In contrast, Clefs youthful exuberance and outbursts were welcome.

"We keep an eye on each other," Sonata allowed a grin to tug at the corner of her lip.

"You are going to see Pierrot I hope?" with introductions out of the way, he addressed Lyre once more. "He would never forgive you if you left without saying hello," Pedrolino let go, but he continued to run his gaze over Lyre as if he was afraid his old bandmate would vanish.

"Is his tent toward the back as usual?"

"Yes," Pedrolino called out to one of the acrobat girls. "Acerra, escort our friend here to Pierrot's tent. No tricks. Treat the leader of the Aristocrats with the respect he deserves."

Acerra, a girl in white tights and a tutu, lifted delicately from one of the crates, and tip-toed over to Lyre. From her smooth movements and seemingly-lighter than air way of moving, Sonata knew that she was wearing a float-belt, a piece of Eldar technology used exclusively by the Harlequins. Acerra bowed delicately, spun on her toes, then spread her arms and began to tip-toe away, moving her shoulders and wrists to mimic a bird in flight. Lyre walked behind her.

Sonata moved to follow, but with a subtle side step, Pedrolino placed himself between them. His grin still tugged at his lips, but his eyes held a warning. For all of their playfulness, they were still a lethal Chaos Warband. "Dancers," Pedrolino called out. "Keep our guest comfortable and entertained."

Acerra led Lyre through a few tented chambers set aside for the many needs of the Jesters. Everywhere was the scent of incense and the sound of bells. Occasionally music would drift through the air. The dancer finally stopped before a few mirrors, arranged to create a small hallway, then bowed and tip-toed away.

"Shred," Lyre stepped between two of the mirrors, then closed his eyes, trying to remember the pattern to the maze that wouldn't end with serious injury. He knew his sight was going to be useless, and that his sense of smell had been compromised the moment he smelled the incense, likewise the ambient sounds in the air even dulled that sense. Touch would be also not be any help. Even his memory in this case wasn't going to do much good because the mirrors would change. Needless to say, charging in like a grox wouldn't solve any problems either.

He lifted one foot and set it down in front of him. He felt the floor shift and vibrate slightly as mechanisms worked and the mirrors around him shifted and changed, distorting his image and altering the layout of the maze. Lyre took another step, and was rewarded by another shifting of mirrors and reflections. Now he stepped to the side, more changes, back to the other side, forward again, and this time the reflection before him changed to a room lined with bookshelves, crystal balls, various pieces of technology, and a large Space Marine in terminator armor.

Lyre lifted a foot and was about to set it down in front of him, then paused. No, he remembered this part clearly. He put that foot behind him, taking a step backward, then took another step backward, and finally a third. He heard the mirrored lock click one last time and a door shut before him.

"Well done," came Pierrots voice from behind him.

Lyre turned and greeted his old band leader. "Hello Pierrot."

"Has my Magician finally come home?"

"I'm afraid not. But I am here to speak with you."

Pierrot was a curve ball if the universe had ever thrown one. He was a massive Marine, clad in terminator armor painted in many colors and patterns, with a skull-like chaplains helmet that had been given a fools cap complete with bells. A cape of multicolored harlequin diamonds fell just shy of his knees. From his shoulders rose racks of various small pipes, like a calliope had been placed on his back. Yet for all of his Noise Marine abilities, he never once gave any praise to Slaanesh. None of the Jesters called on any of the gods of Chaos. Pierrot had belonged to a troupe of Harlequins before establishing his own band. He had accompanied the Eldar to the far corners of the galaxy and the Eye, participated in many performances and battles, and still remained on good terms with the Eldar as a result.

And like the Harlequins, he too sang the praises of the Great Fool, the First Fool, the Laughing God of the Eldar: Cegorach.

It felt good to be in the company of old friends again. Lyre hadn't felt this kind of comradeship since...since...

_Since my boots had traveled marble and golden halls draped in rich purple, trailing behind the Phoenician, supporting one of his many elaborate capes. Since those times when I was content with only my duty to my Primearch._

"Always such a deep thinker," Pierrot interrupted Lyre's reverie. "Tell me, where is the Fool?"

Lyre had been inwardly dreading this moment. "Cornet met his end at the hands of the Black Templars."

Pierrot nodded, as if it was only a confirmation of what he already knew. "And what of you Magician? You brought your Empress with you. I have heard many great things about your band. Your new member, Clef is it? Took center stage last night and gave a rousing performance, so I've been told. When will I meet him?"

"Clef is partially the reason I came to you. He was badly injured, and Fret can't do much for him."

"Fret? How is the old cog?"

Lyre had forgotten how scatterbrained Pierrot could be. "He's as well as he can be."

"Crasis and Elision?"

"Still the same."

Pierrot nodded again. Like he had already expected all these answers. "And Clef is injured," he stated. "You are not the only company I have had today Lyre. Before the sun had risen, an old face walked into my tent and made a tempting offer. I turned him down. I suggest you do the same. The Jesters will welcome the Aristocrats as traveling companions."

As much as Lyre respected Pierrot, it had been a feat to break away from the Jesters and found their own band. That kind of independence was hard to give up. "I will keep that in mind," Lyre said. "I ask for the services an apothecary to examine Clef."

"Let the boy die," Pierrot said flatly.

Lyre felt his hackles unexpectedly rise at that response. "That is-"

"I see a dark future if he lives. I see tables turned and hearts broken. I see the Aristocrats dead. I see the Magician covered by the Demon reversed," Pierrot said softly. He rested his hand on a table at the center of the room. In the center of the table was a crystal ball, and around the ball were several cards of the Eldar tarot. "Let the boy die."

Lyre wasn't sure if this was one of Pierrots famous tricks, or if he was being serious. Lyre had come too far and worked too hard with Clef to give up on him now. An ache spread through his chest when he even considered letting him go.

Pierrot's head lifted, as if sensing Lyre's discomfort. "You have one choice left to you, should you desire to save the lad," he gestured to the cards. "Would the universe only had one Fool, then there would be no need for Magicians," Pierrot then turned back to the crystal ball.

Lyre knew better than to demand an explanation. He would never get one. After a moment of silence, Lyre spoke. "Its good to see you again Pierrot. Thank you for granting me an audience," Lyre turned around to find the door again, and found he already been transported somewhere else.

* * *

Sonata couldn't help but laugh at the antics of the troupe. The dancers had given her a hot mug of flavored tea and were running through a dress rehearsal of one of their acts. Even the Space Marines would participate. Recognizing that the act was a parody of Imperial history made it all the more blasphemous and delightful. The Space Marines moved and "fought" with jerky mechanical movements, while a few of the dancers played the role of Guardsmen or other human dignitaries. Occasionally something would fall off a Space Marines armor and group of small humans dressed as Tech Priests would come and circle their ankles, holding up cogs and prayerbooks, becoming an act into themselves.

It was about when "Abbadon's" left arm fell off for the fourth time that Sonata collapsed off the side of the box she had been sitting on and into a pile of straw unable to breathe from laughing. The lid of the box opened and Lyre pulled himself out of the seemingly impossibly small space. With tears of laughter still in her eyes, Sonata could only watch dumbfounded as this dark warrior pulled himself free as gracefully as possible, then turned and politely shut the lid behind him. The troupe had formed a semi-circle, surrounding Lyre and clapping. It was only then that Sonata realized that Lyre was part of the act. He was the relief force they had all be waiting on.

Lyre turned and made an elaborate bow, using body language that belonged on a stage and only then did the troupe break away and return to their practice. Sonata pulled herself from the straw and dusted off her robes. "How did it go?"

"He suggested we let Clef die."

All of Sonata's good humor faded. "What?" she followed alongside him as he started for the exit. "I don't have much love for the kid either but-"

"His injuries are severe. Its not something even a Space Marine can heal from without help. Pierrot may be right."

Sonata circled before Lyre, halting his progress. "No Lyre. We are not giving up on Clef. He's an Aristocrat. Inexperienced, yes, and young, but he's still one of us," she looked out over the camp. "Let me and Fret do some searching. We might be able to find another apothecary to help him," she glanced up and met his eyes. His expression was unreadable, his features blank. To anyone else he would seem cold and heartless, but Sonata had been around Lyre for some time now, and she could understand some of his little tells.

With a motion that seemed to take more energy than it should have, Lyre nodded. "I'm heading back to the Rhino. I'll send Fret."

"Thanks," Sonata lifted her hand to pull her hood back up and heard the small chime of bells. There was a bracelet on her wrist that she knew she had never owned. "Where?"

Lyre held her wrist and examined the bracelet. "Seems that the Jesters like you. Keep it. It may be useful."

* * *

The noon sun was high overhead now. The nights on this planet were cold and in some ways refreshing, but the days were hot and dry. Fret had set up the Rhino for camping by extending an awning off one side to provide shade. The rear hatch had been closed and the side doors had been half closed. Fret and Sonata found an apothecary to examine Clef, and the outcome was not promising. As feared, Clef had massive internal bleeding, a collapsed lung, bones too broken to heal properly, and a fractured rib plate. He had administered stimulants and narthecium, along with a market expectation of prices from an organ harvest. The apothecary had wanted to know where Lyre had sourced the boys geneseed. Geneseed that strong and stable was hard to come by among the forces of Chaos.

Lyre had resisted the urge to add the apothecary to Red Widows soul harvest, and instead had paid the aging Chaos Marine. The other Aristocrats were out, trading, scavenging, making new connections and new allies. Lyre remained behind to watch over Clef, completely aware of the irony of his situation. Clef lived for campaigns like this, and part of the reason Lyre had taken this gig was to allow Clef a chance to become familiar with other warbands.

_Let the boy die._

He couldn't. He wouldn't. Not now. Not since Clef had started coming into his own. He had done well last night. Damn well for a neophyte. If he was in the ranks of the Emperors Children, he would have risen to great heights after that one battle alone.

Lyre ran his gauntleted hand through his hair, scratching his scalp. He was greasy, dirty, his skin itched, his feet ached from their constant confinement in the armor. After all this time, Fret still hadn't been able to pick the wards that held Lyre prisoner in his own armor. Cornet had often spoken of the things he wanted to do when finally freed from his armor. Cornet, that fool.

_Would that the universe only had one Fool. There would be no need for Magicians._

Lyre glanced back inside the cool darkness of the Rhino toward Clef. There was one thing that could save him, heal him completely. But it came at a price, one that Lyre hadn't been willing to pay. Not until Clef was more familiar with his own talents and abilities. No, not yet. He wouldn't survive the process...would he?

A shudder moved through him, a rare show of emotion that made Red surface in the back of his mind, and with it her hunger and complaints. _Take him, _she seemed to whisper. _Give me his soul, strong and bold._

"No," Lyre said aloud. "Clef is not food, he is an Aristocrat."

_Foolish Slave,_ Red Widow purred. _He is dead either way. Give him to me._

Anxiously, he ran his gaze over Clef's prone form. It would be easy enough. He was already out cold. Just a simple twist of the neck or even the satisfying parting of flesh and muscle tissue around his combat knife.

"Grrraah!" Lyre roared, standing from the side doors and distancing himself from Clef. If he stayed Red Widow might just have her way, and everything he had fought for would be ruined. Gripping the sides of his head until Red's voice faded from his mind, Lyre tried to clear his thoughts. "He is dead either way," he shook his head. "Dead either way."

Lyre didn't see the attack coming. A huge metal claw the size of his torso grabbed and pinned the Noise Marine to the side of the Rhino, pinching hard to pin Lyre's arms to his side. For a moment Lyre thought that he was being attacked by a Sentinel, but then realized it was an orgyn that had been covered with power armor, and given a pair of additional pincer-like arms. A Warp Scream built in Lyre's throat, but found no release as a blast pistol was leveled at his head.

"I'd keep quiet if I were you."

Lyre felt his armor crack and chip under the intense grip from the ogryn. Accompanying the mass of meat and metal were two thin figures. Each of them were dressed identically in black cloaks that hid any amount of weaponry. Their skin was pale, and each of them had green eyes, like pict screens set in their sockets. They were representatives of an entity that Lyre had borrowed a considerable amount of money from. The Noise Marine gave up his struggles, knowing that fighting the Hounds was going to do more harm than good.

"It took a long time to find you Lyre. You're busy for a has-been."

Lyre remained quiet.

"You know what we are here for."

Lyre sideglanced the blast pistol, then opened his mouth slowly to speak. "I do. I don't have it yet."

"You know that is not a satisfactory answer. You owe a great debt Lyre. And if you do not pay now, then we will take the equivalent of the remaining debt out of your skin. And what your skin fails to cover, we will then be forced to harvest the members of your band until that debt satisfied," the one on the left spoke. "Now think long and hard for a moment, I know your thought processes are slowed by the amount of drugs in your system, so we will be patient. Where is our money?"

Lyre thought of any number of stories or excuses he could make to buy more time, but each one sounded more weak than the last. He was about to take his chances with the blast pistol when another voice, clear and confident cut through the air.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" a tall human, wearing a deep purple suit and trailed by several other humans approached the Rhino.

Lyre studied the man, recognition slowly climbing in the back of his mind. He was taller than Lyre remembered, and a good deal more confident too. A far cry from the short Space Marine he remembered looking back at him from the quartermasters supply cage all those centuries ago. "Ruffati?" he asked.

Ruffati stood before the two Hounds, regarding each one as if they were children that had wondered too far from their parents.

"This is none of your business, be off," the Hound on the right spoke this time.

Ruffati seemed amused. "In that you are quite mistaken. This is my business. My audition, my gig. And this poor sump scraping you have pinned to that Rhino, is in my employ. Now please tell your animated tumor to release him."

Lyre was content to watch the proceedings from his spot against the Rhino. The Hounds did not react well to Ruffati's banter.

"We will leave as soon as your so-called 'employee' honors his debt," the one on the left said through grit teeth.

"Oh!" Ruffati chuckled. "Is money all you're after? How quaint," he pulled a small data slate from his pocket.

Lyre recognized the device immediately. It was essentially a digital checkbook. "Ruffati, you don't-"

"Quiet, we will discuss this later," Ruffati sang. The Hound pulled a similar device from his cloak, then tapped it against Ruffati's. The devices beeped and the Hound addressed his ogryn.

"Paid in full. Release him."

Lyre dropped the meter to the ground and watched as the Hounds walked away. For a moment he felt relief that the debt was no longer in their hands, but dread as to what he would have to do to make good on it.

Ruffati studied his small dataslate. "Hmm...what did you do to rack up such a sum?" he smiled warmly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say this is almost the full price for the amount of work required to make a new Space Marine."

Lyre remained quiet, looking at the device in Ruffati's hand.

Ruffati tilted his head with a questioning expression. "It does seem as if Soul Slaves are a boring lot," he snapped his fingers a couple of times to get Lyre's full attention. Unknowingly Lyre tracked the sound and met Ruffati's pink eyes. "My, what had Tosarian done to you Lysander?" Ruffati sighed. A couple of his servants approached him, one set down a folding chair for Ruffati to sit on, and another poured him a glass of wine from a chilled decanter.

Lyre's senses lit on the wine and his stomach tightened. He hadn't had wine for a very long time. He cleared his thoughts and pulled over a crate to sit across from his guest. "Thank you, but I cannot repay at this time."

"Oh please. Consider it a sign-on bonus," Ruffati gestured to the two Hounds, whom were still lurking in the distance. "I came to offer you and the Aristocrats a job. I held this audition for one reason alone. And that is to determine the best of the best Noise Marine warbands."

Pierrots words rose in the back of Lyre's mind. The Jesters had already turned Ruffati down, and had recommended that the Aristocrats do the same. Then Pierrot had to recommend letting Clef die. "I'm listening," Lyre said, remaining skeptical.

"I'll be blunt and to the point. I have a lot of bands yet to visit, and not much time to complete my task," Ruffati sipped his wine. "I saw what you had done to the libretto, and the skill of your band members. I was even quite taken with the pict feed I had seen of your youngest member, Clef, is it? I need your kind of talent Lysander...forgive me, its Lyre now isn't it?" he chuckled. "Cute, but I suppose a new life deserves a new name. I want to offer you a place in my employ. I have several large projects upcoming and I need warriors with sound minds that can think on their feet."

"Go on."

Ruffati continued after another sip. "You will of course be compensated well. A steady pay rate with right of spoils, along with room and board on my ship. I can't believe that a former Phoenix Guard is living out of a Rhino with five other warriors and three decaying servitors."

Lyre shrugged, once again a gesture that seemed more programmed than sincere. "Rank and titles ceased to matter long ago Ruffati. You seem to have done well for yourself despite getting stuck with clerical work alongside the quartermaster of the 23rd company for most of your career."

That had struck a nerve, and for the first time Ruffati lost his superior smirk, but he recovered smoothly. "Quite. As you have said, that was long ago. Yet today, I make you an offer. I want the Aristocrats to join me. They will still be your band, they won't get broken up and reabsorbed into other bands or companies," he tilted his head to the right. "The Hounds are still hanging around because I have put a delay on that payment until tomorrow at dawn, when I expect your answer. Please Lyre, please consider my offer."

Lyre folded his arms. It was a tempting offer, and Ruffati was a well-known figure. Room and board on a ship, and opportunities to work alongside other talented Noise Marines. It was almost too good to be true. Especially after the hard road they had been on for the past twenty some years. "I will need to discuss it with the band."

"Please do," Ruffati set the glass down and stood. "I look forward to hearing from you," one of his servants rushed forward and collected his chair then scrambled to catch up to the tall Space Marine as he went on his way through the camp.

Lyre looked down at the delicate stemmed glass Ruffati had left, then picked it up. It was still half-full of wine. For a moment he could see his reflection in the curved surface. His hair was a mess, his eyes appeared sunken with dark circles beneath them, his lips cracked and chapped behind the thin unkempt growth of his beard. He tried to keep it trimmed, but it was a losing battle at times like these. He studied the remaining wine, and tilted the glass toward his nose.

Immediately a delicate bouquet of scents cut through the dry dust that had been ever present since he arrived on planet. Lyre closed his eyes and felt his mouth water. He could smell the light refreshing base of finely cultivated fruit, accompanied by floral tones and a hint of aged falerwood, there was also a slight herbal infusion present, just a hint of something like mint that helped to tie it all together. He lifted the glass to his lips and took the smallest of sips.

Even though it had been thousands of years ago, Lyre would never forget this flavor, this scent. His thoughts filled with memories from another life. This was Lord Fulgrims favorite wine. It had been served at all of the formal gatherings, when greeting his brother Primearchs, or simply enjoying an evening of music and good-natured laughter. Brother Captains drank it by the gallon during victory feasts. This was the flavor of the _Pride of the Emperor_.

Lyre let the delicate fluid roll on his tongue for a moment, before swallowing. No drug. No amount of picts, no stories of old days told around chemical fires could bring the feeling of home back as effectively as this wine had. For a moment he studied the soft pink blush of the liquid, remembering lost friends and forgotten aspirations. For that moment he was clean, his soul was his own, and his life belonged to his Primearch.

"Clef...is dead either way...isn't he?" Lyre took a deeper draw on the wine. The nostalgia helping him to gain a firmer footing on the present. "Dead either way," he finished the last of the wine and set the empty glass down. Giving up on Clef would mean giving up on himself, and if there was one thing a Space Marine knew how to do, whether he bowed to Chaos Undivided or the Corpse God, it was fight. Fight and preserve what they little they had. "I need a bike," Lyre mumbled, then stood to make preparations.

* * *

Sonata stumbled into the Rhino later that afternoon. She had spent most of the day searching the camp for a few odds and ends with Fret, and also to see if they could trade some of their extra supplies for munitions. The doors to the Rhino were closed, indicating that all the Aristocrats were out getting into their own troubles, and the servitors were on guard.

"Frak, didn't we tell them to leave the door open to get a cross-breeze going?" Sonata moaned as she tried to clear the hot muggy air. Living with five men in such a small space meant that there was a sour musky scent in the air that no amount of incense would clear. She took two steps inside the door before her boot hit something solid. "Huh? Who left this out?"

"Left what?" Fret asked, peeking in next to her. One of the storage crates had been pulled from the wall and now sat in the middle of the floor. Sonata looked up to the gap it had occupied and felt her blood run cold.

Forsworn had been taken from its secret compartment.

"Fret!" Sonata ran to search the gap.

"Oh shred," Fret climbed in after her. "Do you think it was stolen?"

"If it was Lyre will rip this entire camp ap—where's Clef?"

Fret turned toward the rear of the Rhino where Clef's bunk had been set up. The bed was empty, and resting on the twisted bloodied blankets was a dataslate. Slowly Fret picked it up. "It's a note from Lyre."

Sonata felt she already knew what it was going to say. "Well?"

Fret set it back down. "He's taken Clef and Forsworn. And they will return in the morning."

Sonata sat down heavily on the nearest bunk. Unconsciously her hand traveled to her chest and held tightly to a pendant made of Cornets guitar pick. "Shred."

* * *

Lyre had managed to locate a basic assault bike for a relatively reasonable price. It was little more than a frame with an engine and a small sidecar for a passenger, and like all Chaos equipment, has probably had several past lives with a variety of warbands. It lacked any weaponry, and the throttle needed some work, but it would suffice.

The taste of wine was still fresh on his lips and tongue as he lifted Clef from the bed, inwardly wincing as he felt the tenderness of the young Noise Marines flesh. Lyre placed Clef in the sidecar, then went inside to retrieve Forsworn from the hidden panel. By the position of the sun he could see that it was mid afternoon. He had enough time to travel to a more suitable location for the ritual.

Clef winced and glanced wearily over at his bandleader as the engine on the bike started. Despite his condition, a grin spread across his pale face. That was another emotion that the boy would need to learn to mimic soon. Lyre didn't meet his eyes, instead he placed Forsworn into the sidecar next to Clef. Clefs smile faded, replaced by anxiety, excitement and yes, even a little fear. That was common and expected.

Lyre straddled the bike, placing his helmet behind him and strapping it down with some webbing. For a moment he tested the throttle, filling their little corner of the camp with satisfying growls, like some giant beast giving warning grunts to invaders in its territory. He listened to the thump and thrum of the engine, and once Lyre was sure the abused equipment wasn't going to give out on him, he engaged the gears and headed west out of the camp. The assault bike roared underneath them, and while the ride could have been smoother, Lyre was ultimately pleased with the machines performance.

His passenger drifted in and out of consciousness for most of the trip. That the youth had held on this long was a testament to his fortitude and willpower. Unbidden, Lyre's mind traveled to other times, when Clef had only been small boy scurrying around the Rhino and helping Fret with the warband's kit. Between the six of them they had trained Clef to be the best Noise Marine they could create. Sonata had taught him the language of music and its many variations, then later helped him to refine his Warp Scream ability. Crasis had spent tireless days training him in hand to hand combat, sometimes beating him to the point of unconsciousness to condition Clef to heal and recover quickly. Elision had tutored him on the finer points of using a sonic weapon, and their many features both in and out of battle. Fret had taught him basic tech skills and quick fixes for almost any mechanical failure. Monody helped Clef to focus his attentions and to develop emotional control, and lastly, Lyre had rounded out the boys tactical and combat skills.

Clef wasn't just a new member, he was the product of all the knowledge and skill the Aristocrats possessed. If anything, Clef was their future, and Lyre wasn't going to let that slip away so easily. Red Widow was still pissed about being denied what she felt was rightfully hers, and Lyre had been using every last fragment that remained of his willpower to keep her at bay. As the camp faded behind him, he noted that Clef had fallen asleep again, and Lyre wondered if he was acting selfishly in protecting the young Noise Marine.

Making Clef into a Space Marine had been expensive in more ways than one. Even much larger warbands still had trouble creating new Space Marines. Stable geneseed was difficult to come by. The Imperials had cornered that market. Raids into Imperial space to acquire geneseed were frequent but rarely successful. More common were battlefield scavengers who would wait until the fighting died down enough to pick through the dead. The scavengers would locate suitable corpses and strip them of all their organs. And if they found a Imperial Space Marine, the first thing they would look for was the geneseed. If that had already been harvested, then the body would be stripped of all related organs. The organs would then be sold off piecemeal to augment already existing Chaos Marines, or one well-funded individual could pay to have organs installed on their person, giving them Space Marine-like abilities.

Of course no one welcomed the sight of scavengers, and corpse hunters often paid well for body guards that would allow them to continue their grisly work unmolested. The Aristocrats had played that role a few times in the past decades as well. It was no easy task fighting both Chaos Marines and Adeptus Astartes at the same time for the privilege of defiling the dead.

Working organs were one market. But geneseed, true whole uncorrupted geneseed was another matter entirely. With geneseed, they had the means to create a relatively stable Space Marine, and that is what Lyre had needed to make Clef into a true Noise Marine. But even then, geneseed was only one piece of the puzzle. He and Fret had to source reliable apothecaries, or agencies that would process the geneseed and implant the organs correctly, have the proper facilities to handle common mutations and irregularities, and ensure that the geneseed that the agency was given was the one that ended up in their neophyte.

They had finally settled on Rahulio Ferex, an apothecary that had trained under the infamous Fabius Bile. He had the credentials, and all the right skill, and had even been astute enough to note that Lyre had been one of the test subjects for the now often praised Warp Scream vocal implants. Ferex was also very expensive. He had geneseed sources on offer, but Lyre knew there was only one geneseed that could be used for Clef.

The Aristocrats held to the belief that Cornet had been Clef's predecessor. And Lyre didn't try to disprove it. But there had been nothing left of Cornet. His body had been reduced to ash, geneseed and all. So Lyre had given Clef the only other stable geneseed in the band.

His own.

Fret had argued with him, fussed and cursed, listed alternate sources, even offered to help him track down another member of the Emperors Children and harvest theirs. But in the end, he had to agree. Too much time had passed, and the Legions that had followed Horus to Chaos had been tainted. In a way, Lyre had been spared that taint. Red Widow possessed him, body and soul, and she would not allow anything else get its claws into her slave. Aside from malnourishment at times, Lyre's body and organs were still the same as they had been under Fulgrims banner. Fret had acquired a device for removing geneseed, and Lyre had drank and stimmed up heavily before Fret had rammed the device between plates in his armor and taken what they needed.

Repairing the armor had been simple. But the wound should have killed him. Once again, Red Widow wasn't going to allow her hard won slave to escape her grasp. If it was so easy to commit suicide, Soul Slaves would have been throwing themselves off tall buildings long before. Grudgingly, she healed his wounds, and had been tormenting Lyre ever since. She didn't like being manipulated.

The ruse was even easier to keep up when Clef's body began to accept changes brought on by the geneseed. His formerly brown eyes became a vibrant and stunning red-orange, much like Cornets amber-orange eyes. Clefs hair took on an almost metalic silver-grey color, and his skin held a light tan. He had the air of a sun-warmed fresh faced youth with exotic eyes, and Lyre knew that if Lord Fulgrim was still around, Clef would have been a favorite.

Although he had tried to reason his way out of the emotion, Lyre felt protective over the boy, as only a parent could. Maybe one day he would tell Clef, but not now. Maybe not ever.

The sun was beginning to set when Lyre found a suitable place for the ritual. They were far enough away from the camp so they wouldn't be disturbed by either curious gawkers or the odd warp spawn that tended to swarm around Chaos Marines. He brought the bike to a halt in the middle of a large flat plain of cracked dry ground and distant mountains. For the moment he left Clef in the sidecar, then pulled a length of iron piping from the side of the bike. He had scouted the refinery for such a piece, just rusted enough to flake off in chips, but solid enough to hold up to some use. Lyre found a smooth place in the dirt, and placed the tip of the pipe on the ground. Silver would have been the best to use but a length of silver was hard to come by. Iron would need to do.

For a moment, Lyre stood motionless in the light of the setting sun. He knew this day would come, when he would need to revisit those old memories, dredge up the past from the back of his mind and listen to Red Widow tease and taunt him the entire time. But he needed to remember the symbols, the runes, the sigils, the chants.

_Lyre had been summoned to the meeting hall on the Pride of the Emperor, expecting to find his fellow Phoenix Guard, but there had only been himself and Cornet. Then a handpicked rabble clothed in brightly colored fabrics and paint that called themselves the Kakaphony had swarmed into the hall, using strange screams and shouts, they subdued and bound Cornet and Lyre, bringing them before Toserian. He had heard of their doubts of Fulgrims leadership abilities, that they questioned the integrity of their Primearch. Phoenix Guard or not, they were branded as traitors, but instead of death, Toserian had a more interesting punishment in mind._

With his memories growing sharper, Lyre began to chant under his breath, finally using the piping to begin creating the sacred circle that would be both the focus and protection for the night's ritual. The words came to him steadily, each one tripping over the other like bricks from a crumbling wall. The first symbol, or gate, was already complete.

_They had been stripped of armor and weapons, then carried to the surface of some planet. The air smelled of rot, and of heady incense. Lyre had never seen such an abuse of color and sound. He and Cornet were led to the middle of this insane camp, spat upon by those they had once fought with side by side. Everywhere there were Astartes that were not acting like Astartes. They were beasts, involved in acts of torture or pleasure, sometimes both at once._

By the time Lyre finished the second gate, the chant had changed. He could feel the energy he was summoning already rippling through him. Not yet, he had a task before him. The third and fourth gates were in place, the circle nearly complete, but this was a dangerous time. Anytime a Warp working neared completion there were always a few entities wanting to add their two cents in. Red Widow tugged at the back of his mind once more, fully awake and hungry, attempting to distract her slave from this seemingly insane task.

_Lyre had been first, tossed into the center of a glowing circle of blue fire. That had been the first time he had set eyes on Red Widow. She lay in the center of the circle, her red surface gleaming in the light. He had wanted to be taken in by the ridiculousness of the situation. Beaten and insulted, only to be offered up to this...this...guitar! Not some strange alien, not some all powerful psyker, but this simple instrument. But how wrong he had been to doubt. _

It was now well into the night. Lyre finished the seventh and final gate. Behind him in the sidecar of the bike, he could hear Clef stir.

"Lyre? Where are we?" Clef moaned.

Lyre continued chanting, keeping his thoughts and focus through meditation. Holding his own screaming conscience in check, he lifted Clef from the sidecar. He kept chanting under his breath, then tossed Clef over one shoulder, and Forsworns strap over the other.

Clef grunted in pain. "Lyre! What are you doing?"

Lyre paused for a breath, closing his eyes before continuing, chanting louder in an attempt to drown out Clefs protests.

"Lyre! Please! What is going on?"

The Noise Marine kept chanting, his voice almost at a full yell now. He relived the memories of that moment with each pained step. He began at the first gate, then traveled widdershins, passing the second, third, his pace slow and measured as he completed his journey with Clef on his back. Once he reached the first gate again, Lyre stepped inside the circle.

The runes and markings flared to life with warp fire. Still chanting the final measures, his voice beginning to crack with emotion, he dropped Clef in the center of the circle, then placed Forsworn on the ground next to him. Forsworn began to glow, her strings alternating between blue and white, her black glossy body swam with shapes and spiral patterns, an expression of the demoness that lived within the lustrous shell.

Clef began to understand, and ceased his struggles. For that, Lyre was grateful. He remembered how he had kicked and fought, how Cornet had screamed and cursed everyone watching. Drawing his combat knife, Lyre gestured for Clef to pull himself up on his hands and knees, leaning over Forsworns body. Clef held his left arm close to his body, still trying to nurse his wounds. Lyre moved behind Clef and grabbed him by the hair, pulling back and exposing his neck.

Lyre's chanting ended, the circle sealed, all necessary wards and blessings in place. Light from the glowing runes and gates reflected brightly on the weapons surface.

"Forsworn," Lyre breathed. "I summon you, and bring forth this warrior to offer as your slave. By blood," he pressed the knife to Clefs throat. "I bind his soul to your whims."

The black depths of the weapons surface churned hungrily. Lyre steeled himself to draw the blade, to cut the neck of the young Noise Marine. Deep inside he wanted Clef to fight, rage against him, not offer himself like some trusting dog! His grip tightened on the hilt,

And Lyre hesitated.

His arm wouldn't respond. For a moment he suspected Red Widow, but no, even she couldn't reach him inside the circle. He sincerely did not want to slay Clef, he did not want-

_Kill the boy. Would that the universe only had one Fool._

Lyre glanced over Clef's shoulder, to the dark void black of Forsworns surface. For a moment he caught the image of amber-orange eyes looking up at him expectantly. His Brother, his other half still imprisoned within the weapon.

Cornet smiled weakly, then turned away.

Emboldened, Lyre pressed the knife tighter to Clefs throat. "By blood, I bind this soul to your whims! Forsworn! Accept this offering!" he drew the knife across Clefs throat, roaring his own self-disgust and guilt as hot fresh blood rushed over his hand.

Clefs blood fell on Forsworns strings and body, the black surface absorbing every drop. Lyre pulled his hand away, the young Noise Marines blood already beginning to dry, making his fingers and handle of the combat knife sticky. He dropped the knife, still reeling from both the memories and the life he had just damned Clef to. Slowly he turned and left the circle, walking through the flames toward the bike. He wanted stims, or to get drunk, or maybe kill something, anything to wash this guilt and dread from his heart. He sat down on the far side of the bike, leaving Forsworn to finish claiming her slave.

For a moment he glanced back toward Clef, and saw the shadowy form of the demoness reach up with shapely arms and pull the young Noise Marine to her, then Red Widow all but broke Lyre's neck twisting his head back around. Lyre sat down in the dirt, resting his head on the back of his armored forearms. This damn armor that he could never remove. Tosarian had seen to that. The memories still came. Released from their shackles in his mind, they rose, engulfing his consciousness in sadness and desperation.

"But we escaped," Lyre breathed, fighting down the dread in his heart. "Me and Cornet. We got away from that madness."

* * *

Cornet and Lyre had been running for days. Possibly years. Time was hard to track in the Eye, if that was even where they still were. The air was thin, the landscape cold and barren., the sky pale and white in color. A normal human could never survive in this environment, with little moisture in the air or on the ground. But they were not normal humans. They were Space Marines, fallen from grace and cast from the Emperors Light.

Their superhuman muscles were weak, their armor cracking, dust choked and in dire need of repair. In their minds, they were still running, but to a casual observer, the pair of armored warriors seemed to shuffle along, their feet dragging through the sand and gravel, leaving groves in the dust behind them. Even in their state of disrepair and ill health, each held a brilliant weapon meticulously cared for and maintained. The Instruments of Destruction, and the physical bodies of their demonic mistresses.

They exchanged no words, their mouths long since gone dry, no unnecessary movement save for the slow process of placing one foot before the other. Pulling themselves up and over another ridge like the hundreds behind them, they finally paused to study the sudden change in landscape. Before them was a plain filled with large boulders. It might have been a city once, or perhaps a canyon, but for now would serve as shelter from the dust storm encroaching behind them.

The pair of warriors stumbled down the opposite side of the hill, the servos in their armor creaking and groaning from the dust in the air. Small rocks and gravel stirred up by their feet raced down the slope before them. One ceramite boot uncovered then shattered an old clay pot, confirming vague suspicions that this had once been a city. They didn't search for long before finding shelter in small nook made by intersecting flat slabs. The dust here was deep but undisturbed, they would at least be spared the brunt of the winds fury and hopefully any unwanted attention as well. Wordless, they tucked into the crevice tightly, backs to the walls, and facing outward toward any possible threats.

They collapsed to the ground heavily, their bodies too weak to stand any longer. With no resource save the others company, their minds sluggish from lack of food and water and bodies seeking rest from their long journey. Neither dared to close their eyes. Even though they had tried to be careful, they still might have been followed, and their lives still at stake.

By degrees, the Space Marine wielding the black weapon slouched a little further, unable to keep his head up any longer. He leaned on his companion, exhaustion finally overcoming him, in itself not an easy feat for a Space Marine. The remaining warrior, wielding the red weapon, shifted his shoulder before the howling winds began to entice him to rest as well. The sky above became darker as the leading edge of the storm swept into and around their refuge, fine dust-like sand collected around their boots and in the ridges of their armor.

Sleep was pulling at him, yet before his eyes could shut, he saw a curious figure emerge from the swirling sand and approach him. It was humanoid, with no armor save for a chainmail shirt, and no protection from the cold dusty winds other than the odd clothing it wore. It had long arms and legs, clad in blue and white tights, like a performer or an acrobat. Its shoes were dark blue, with curled toes capped by small bells, its gloves were also dark blue, as was its wide comical collar. It wore a fools cap of long tapers and bells, and what appeared to be a mask of porcelain or bone over its face, twisted into an exaggerated comical grin.

The figure approached slowly, one foot before the other, like a feline, yet it left no footprints. It stopped a meter away from the fallen warriors. There was no scent, no sound, no fear or malice. For untold minutes they studied each other, each one examining the curiosity before them. Under his helmet, the warrior's dry lips cracked open in a smile. The first such emotion he had freely displayed in centuries, nay, millennia.

Finally the figure nodded, and the warrior joined his companion in sleep.

* * *

The storm was getting worse. The auspex had been right on. Countless weeks of long battles had churned up this dusty planet's atmosphere, and now all of those left on the ground were going to pay the price. Still Pierrot led his squad onward, determined to make one last sweep of the perimeter to ensure no other warbands had made the ruins of Karamere their refuge. Pierrot did not share his turf with anyone, well, at least not anyone that couldn't bribe them.

"We should head back soon, the leading edge of the storm is on us, but the bulk of the wind and dust are twice as powerful," the Techmarine at his side reported.

"Just one more checkpoint to verify," Pierrot growled. The high winds were already making the pipes on his shoulders and back whistle eerily, adding a somber and haunting melody to their patrol. He knew they should get back to camp, but he still had one task he needed to complete.

The night before he had dreamed of the Laughing Fool. He didn't quite fully understand the Laughing Fool, and when in the Eye it was better to never allow oneself to dream at all. A dreaming mind was ripe for invasion by demons or Eldar leftovers. Even so, the Laughing Fool had never led him down the wrong path. So far he had been re-enacting the dream step for step, and word for word. Even Pedrolino's regular updates on the storm. The dream ended on the outskirts of the city, near the fallen walls. He knew that place, and had been there himself many times.

His squad spread out as they reached the outer wall, already familiar with all the nooks and crannies. Sandrone was about to trip over a buried stone, while Pedrolino would give another report on the weather, and Pierrot would search one last bolthole.

There was a puff of dust as Sandrone went down, cursing. Pedrolino clipped in on the vox. "Getting preliminary scans of winds in excess of three hundred miles an hour."

Expectantly, Pierrot peered around the sections of fallen wall, into a nook. In the dream he had found a pair of playing cards laying on the dust and dirt, a pair of jokers. Now he looked in and saw nothing. Nothing save for dust falling like fine snow, and a pile of sand engulfing the rear of the nook.

For a moment Pierrot was confused, the dreams were never wrong, then again what did he expect when following the Laughing Fool? There were bound to be moments like this. Cautiously, Pierrot stepped into the shelter of the nook.

"Did you find something?" Pedrolino asked.

"Not sure yet." Pierrot ceramite booted feet parted the settled dust and sand easily, then struck something hard. He glanced downward and saw the dust had shifted, revealing a sandy tuft of feathers and fur. More of the squad rounded the corner and tried to squeeze their armored bodies into the small space. Pierrot knelt and began to brush the sand away, digging in. Pedrolino joined him while the others covered the entryway.

After a moment they had uncovered a pair of Space Marines, with tall feathered crests on their helms and odd markings on their armor. The squad took turns glancing back at this odd discovery. Pierrot turned one to the side so he could read the heraldry on the pauldron. "They're Noise Marines like us, belonging to...Kakaphony warband."

Pedrolino stood and leveled his bolter toward the fallen warriors. "I remember they had gained a lot of territory during the battles."

Pierrot tugged on a strap that had been looped over one's shoulder, and pulled a brilliant red guitar free from the sand. "Soul Slaves. They make a pact with demons that had possessed these instruments, in exchange for power, they feed them the souls of their kills."

"We should kill them," Tartaglia insisted. "Kakaphony can't be trusted, and its soul slaves even less. As long as they get their tally, they don't care where the souls come from, friend or foe. Tosarian will send his goons to find them, and kill anything in their path."

"How do we know they aren't scouting new territory?" Pedrolino asked.

"Would you send something that expensive to scout ahead?"

Pierrot had to concede. Tartaglia had a point. Their warband, the Jesters, were strong, but the Kakaphony was in another league altogether. A pair of warriors like this would be missed. He searched the sands and found a second weapon, this one black. For a moment he thought about the playing cards in his dream. A pair of jokers. One with a black lute, the other with a red. A pair of Noise Marines. One with a black guitar, one with a red. "Pedrolino, run a scan and see if they are even alive."

Pedrolino adjusted his auspex and after a moment it beeped. "Yes, barely. Only barely."

Pierrot searched the sands and felt his fingers rest on another item that he was only too familiar with. The Jesters behind him watched as Pierrot pulled a length of chain from the sand, and followed it to its end.

The chain had been welded to the ceramite boots of the two Noise Marines. "Slaves in more ways than one," Pierrot stood. "Uncover them. We are taking them back with us."

"But the Kakaphony!"

"We will handle the Kakaphony if we encounter them. If nothing else we have something Tosarian wants and would probably trade for. And if they die, we can easily sell their weapons to the highest bidder. Demon contracts aren't cheap, nor easy to find. The benefits outweigh the risks," Pierrot watched as Tartaglia tossed one over his shoulder, lengths of chain dragging behind him. "Besides, if they are runaways, the Jesters just gained a pair of wild cards."

* * *

Pierrot was a veteran of many bloody battles and wars fought against various forces in the universe, he had seen and visited hardship and pain on so many. Over time his heart had hardened to the horrors of the galaxy, to the deaths of many battle brothers and the loss of fair weather friends. He had seen the collapse of many great empires and worlds, seen death in all of its forms, witnessed decay and pain. He had seen tortures and torments reserved for the damned, and had even worn the chains of slavery himself at times. He had seen Space Marines at their worst and humans at their finest.

But the fates as always had a way of surprising him.

The Jester's base camp was located near the center of the ruins of Karamere, nestled deep in a system of tunnels and large chambers that had mostly escaped the devastation of the world above. The more valuable pieces of Eldar technology and art had been looted long ago, leaving only the dregs and trash of a once proud race. The Jesters were a warband of roughly one hundred warriors. Thirty of which were Space Marines, the rest were odd Guardsmen, a couple of Commissars, an assortment of Tech Adepts, Rouge Traders fallen from grace, Enginseers, and a few civilians from hive worlds that had chosen to run with the band.

They had taken refuge in one of the larger underground chambers, arranged their Chimeras and Rhinos in a circle formation, with the business end of their weaponry pointing outward to cover other tunnels and offshoots. Temporary habs made of modular panels as well as brightly colored tents filled the interior of the circle and servitors stood guard or prowled the darker corners of the encampment. As Pierrot and his squad approached, a Rhino's heavy bolter began to track their movements.

Pierrot opened his vox. "Pierrot, returning from patrol, with two captives. Ease off the trigger Crasis."

The heavy bolter returned to its former position and the hatch on the top opened, another Noise Marine pulled himself partly through the opening then waved Pierrot and the rest of the patrol group on. Pierrot kept a wary eye on Crasis as he passed. He had no clue as to what chapter or warband had spawned that filth, and Crasis would never tell. Pierrot suspected that he was a Tech Marine at one point in time, primarily due to the presence of a mechadendrite that would appear from his arm time to time, other than that, there were no other clues to his origin.

As they entered the camp, members of the squad began to part ways to attend to other business, while Pierrot led Pedrolino and Tartaglia toward what they had deemed "the cell block." Somewhere in their travels, they had acquired a cage normally used to house violent reptoids or other such livestock. It made a decent holding pen for prisoners, or to secure large pieces of technology. Pierrot opened the cage door and instructed his men to leave the Noise Marines inside.

"Elision," Pierrot emerged from the cage. "Keep this area covered."

Elision, a big brute with a grill covering the lower half of his face, nodded solemnly and patted the heavy bolter at his side.

"Fret," Pierrot called over the vox.

A small tech adept slid out of the nearest Rhino and crossed the floor toward the towering Noise Marine in Terminator armor. "Ya called?"

Pierrot had always found it amusing that Frets voice sounded like it belonged to an underhive enginseer rather than a tech adept. His tone carried a slight vocal fry that was only enhanced by his external vox caster. "I need you to examine those two. They were found on the outskirts of the city. I want to make sure they have no tracking devices on them or any hidden weapons."

Fret nodded and approached the cage. Elision fell into step behind him while Pierrot and Pedrolino watched from a few meters away. Like Crasis, Pierrot didn't know much about Fret's history either, other than the little tech adept seemed to be quite knowledgeable about many things. Like many members of Pierrot's warband, Fret didn't follow any of the gods of Chaos, or Chaos Undivided. He didn't even speak of the Machine God in the way Imperial so-called tech priests did. What Pierrot did know, is that Fret was fearless, analytical, and invaluable to the Jesters.

Fret entered the cage and studied the Noise Marines from under his tattered red hood. "Well, first off, we need to make sure our other guests are comfortable."

"Other guests?" Pedrolino asked.

Fret nodded. "We will need two stands, or one big table, and the finest fabric that we have in the camp. Ask Eularia, she should have what we need."

Pierrot nodded to Pedrolino who then went to find Eularia. He returned ten minutes later carrying two metal stands and an attractive human woman walking behind him with two lengths of fabric over her arms. Fret gestured to a clear space outside the cage. "Set the stands up outside there, and drape the fabric over them. I got the rest."

Curious, Pierrot watched as Fret knelt and unhooked the strap on the red guitar and gently pulled it free of the Noise Marine, detaching power cables as he came to them. "Please forgive this intrusion miss, we mean no insult," Fret then carried the guitar to one of the stands and placed it on the purple velvet, then wrapped it around the body of the weapon before repeating the process with the second guitar.

Fret glanced back to Pierrot, for a moment he caught a green flicker from the adept's cybernetic eye. "Those weapons are the physical bodies for a pair of demonesses. We treat them with respect, and maybe they won't command their soul slaves to raze the camp. They are a couple of powerful ladies."

"Their weapons are sentient?"

Fret nodded to the wrapped guitars on the stands. "Oh yes. They may look like guitars, but inside of them rests the will of powerful demons. They are a class to themselves, not like the heavy bolters or even stranger guns like the other Noise Marines are hauling around these days. The more souls they collect, the stronger they become, and the more they are able to alter their appearance to suit their needs. Noise Marines nowadays are using something like a 'hot key' system. They found the most powerful attacks they had and wired them up to triggers, so during battle they only need to hit a key or a series of keys to cause destruction."

"I'm not sure I follow," Pierrot folded his arms, although it was more of a thinking posture than one meant to intimidate.

Fret tapped his foot on the ground, a habit he had when trying to come up with an answer. "Hmm...okay, let me put it this way. Your pipes back there, you basically only have a set variety of attacks they have been designed for?"

"Yes, otherwise they become unstable."

"Well, now imagine that you or someone else had rebuilt your pipes to fire in different ways. You could use them as either a Sonic Blaster, or Blastmaster or even have then configured as a Doom Siren, perhaps all three at once."

Pierrot smiled a little. "That sounds like fun."

"Good, that means you're paying attention. Now imagine that someone had modified it to not only to use sonic attacks, but you can load laspacks or bolt rounds in there as well."

Pierrot smile faded a little. "Is that what those are?"

"Nope, that would be only scratching the surface of what fully unleashed Noise Marines can do. But these guys are a cut above. Now imagine a sonic weapon that not only shoots bolts and lasrounds, but can also mimic plasma bursts for a time. Fits right in your hand. But we don't stop there. The guitars also act as a heavy bolter, lascannon, and plasma cannon with melta variations thrown in for good measure. All you have to do is know which sequence of chords or notes to hit to achieve any of these results, shred, even play an entire song for more interesting displays of power and carnage," he gestured to the guitars. "And that is what these ladies can do. Current Noise Marines don't know what kind of versatility they sacrificed when they drifted away from the instrument inspired weapons. Horus help you if you come across a Noise Marine lugging a piano around the battlefield."

Pierrot mulled over this thought as Fret went back to the cage and their prisoners. After a moment Fret called out. "Hey Boss, you should come look at this."

Elision stepped back so Pierrot could pass. Pierrot ducked through the entrance of the cage and knelt next to Fret. "What is it?"

"Look at this," Fret lifted an arm and pointed to the gauntlet. A mechadendrite slipped from under his robe and supported it. "Their armor has been locked down. It will take an external key to remove it."

"They can't remove their armor?" Pierrot examined ones leg.

"Nope. All of the release points have been damaged, and a few of them have wards or other nasties placed on them."

"Can Kakapony track them through the wards?"

"Hmm...In theory, but I believe these are more for short-range tracking. They had some long range tracking on them, but it seems they killed those."

"Killed them?"

Fret pointed to a pauldron. "See the demon head on the shoulder? That's not decoration, that did house a minor demon that could be used for tracking, but it seems they managed to take care of them. I'm not reading anything off it. No, these guys were prisoners alright."

"Or property."

"Yeah...on that note I don't think we have anything to worry about with the ladies out there. If they were loyal to the Kakaphony, they wouldn't have allowed their soul slaves to run. I can try to remove their helmets, but it's going to take two," Fret glanced up at Pierrot.

"Go on."

"Thanks. I just need you to support...there we go," Fret slipped around behind the first Noise Marine, and began to work at the seam around the gorget. A few thinner mechadendrites emerged from the folds of his hood and assisted his fingers. After tense moments of tinkering, Pierrot heard a sudden snap and the scent of rotten oranges and cinnamon filled the air. Fret cursed and waved a bit of smoke away from his face. "Thats one ward we don't need to worry about," one of his mechadendrites hung loose and dormant.

Pierrot heard a familiar click and Fret lifted the helmet free. At first Pierrot didn't know what to expect. He had seen Chaos Marines in all forms of mutation and decay, and suspected that a soul slave would have any amount of enhancements. A spill of black hair fell from the helmet, matted and clumped in areas, reeking of body odor and dried blood. The Marine himself was still out cold. Pierrot lifted the man's head to study his face, only to find another curiosity.

A muzzle had been placed over the man's mouth and nose, with only small circular punctures to allow for air and maybe a food tube to pass through. Fret immediately went to work on the muzzle and pulled it free, revealing a dark matted beard underneath, then started on the second Noise Marine.

After another snap, and more rotten sweet smells filling the air, he lifted the second helmet free, and this time a spill of white hair greeted them...and another muzzle. Pierrot backed away to allow Fret to work, and also to give himself a moment to assess the Noise Marines.

Humans starved. Space Marines did not. Their bodies were designed to prevent starvation. They could pull moisture from the air with their lungs, the blood of their enemies could nourish them through trying times. There were so many redundancies in place to make Space Marines the perfect soldiers. And yet...these two Noise Marines were starving. Their hair straw-like, their skin thin and dirty, and there was the ever-present sweet, almost fruit-like scent that came from them as their bodies continued to eat themselves for survival. A human would be dead, but a Space Marine was doomed to the long duration of suffering torment.

This was no accident. This degree of starvation and degradation had to be done over time. It was almost artful in its cruelty. Just enough to keep them alive, but never enough to satisfy.

"I know what you're thinking," Fret said as he studied the two bodies before him. "But the demonesses had no part in their condition. This isn't the curse of a Soul Slave. The ladies would know that their champions would need to be in peak condition to gather more souls for them. It's also a pride thing, they want their pets to be the envy of all who see them. I'll bet any amount of creds that when we shave the hair and beards off these men we will have a pair of attractive youths underneath, and even more so when they get a few meals in them," he shoved his hands in a pair of pockets at the front of his red robe. "I'll see what I can do. They're in pretty bad shape, might not even make it through the week."

Pierrot stepped out of the cage, glancing at the guitars once again, wrapped in fine velvet on their stands. What was the Laughing Fool leading him into this time?

* * *

The storm raged on for the next week, and the Jesters had settled in for the duration. Pedrolino kept track of the storm's progress as well as the chatter on the various vox feeds. There was no word from the Kakaphony, and Pedrolino doubted they were still on planet, and certainly no information of a pair of deserters. Broadcasting the loss of a pair of Soul Slaves would be stupid anyway. As Pierrot had said, between the armor and the weapons they carried, anyone would be happy to have a piece of that pie.

Fret had secured the help of the apothecary to assist in the recovery of the Noise Marines. The backpacks had been removed, cleaned, and reloaded with the appropriate stims other necessities. Getting the rest of the armor off was turning out to be impossible without breaking the armor and rendering it completely useless.

Eularia had helped to trim their beards and salvage what she could of their tangled locks. The black-haired one had been the worst off; his thick, course hair had matted in places and had to be cut short. His beard was also thick, strong and came off in clumps. The white haired one on the other hand was almost the exact opposite. His hair was thin and fine, and easily untangled when touched with a comb. His thin beard was easy to trim, and just as Fret had predicted, each Soul Slave was a stunning example of male beauty.

Crasis had come by the cage by the end of the week. At some point everyone in the camp had made a pass by the cage to see the Noise Marines for themselves. Crasis leaned on the cage and peered through the bars as if he was at a zoo. "I don't see what the fuss is," he tapped the bars, making a loud enough sound to see if he could make them get up and move. When they remained motionless he looked over at the guitars. Elision was still covering the cage, and so far the weapons remained where Fret had placed them.

Crasis turned his back on the cage, and drew back the velvet on the closest guitar, revealing a brilliant red body that seemed to swirl with intriguing shapes, like the warp itself. "Hello there..." he reached out and grabbed the instrument by the neck, and began to lift it from the stand.

Pain exploded in the back of his head, and he stumbled forward, dropping the guitar. It hit the ground with a loud cracking sound. Crasis spun and grabbed his head, searching for his attacker. The white haired Noise Marine was on his feet, one fist withdrawing through the bars. He held his hand out and the guitar jumped from the ground, flying toward the cage. The Noise Marine reached between the bars and grabbed the strap of the weapon as it came toward him. Elision leveled the heavy bolter toward the cage as Fret and Pierrot came running.

The Noise Marine paused. He had his weapon, but he was also surrounded. But he felt _great._ Better than he had in centuries. Slowly he lifted a foot to tap his companion on the shoulder to awaken him, then paused. Something was different. His foot felt lighter somehow. It wasn't the armor..even though he no longer heard the twist and grind of the servos. Distracted for a moment, he looked to the ground and felt his breath catch.

The chains were gone. Both of them. The ones off each foot and the ones on his wrists.

Pierrot placed a hand on Elisions heavy bolter, slowly lowering the weapon. "Give him a moment."

Crasis drew his hand away from his head and looked at the blood there. He could feel the wound already beginning to heal. "Frakker looks just like Lord Fulgrim," he mumbled.

The Noise Marine looked out from between the bars toward the others. Pierrot met his eyes, and was a little taken aback. The Space Marine's left eye was deep red, that coupled with the white hair marked him as one of the Emperors Children. But his right eye was brilliant ultramarine blue. At that moment Pierrot could do nothing but smile and laugh.

The Laughing Fool was at it again. Using Pierrot and the Jesters as his playthings. This pair of jokers, the black and the red, and the red and blue. Pierrot laughed until other members of his warband came to see what was going on. Finally Pierrot recovered enough to issue an order.

"Fret, unlock the cage."

"Boss?"

"Go on. We have nothing to fear from the Fool and the Magician," Pierrot approached the cage, his good will present even behind the skull mask of his helmet. "What is your name Magician?"

For a moment the Noise Marine didn't answer, and Pierrot wouldn't have been surprised if the Soul Slave was mute. But then the Space Marine found his voice. Smooth and rich, yet with a deep subtle growl, like dirtied velvet.

"My name is Lyre," the red guitar remained tight in his grip through the cage. "And this is my brother, Cornet."

"Welcome Lyre. Welcome Cornet. Welcome to the Jesters. You must be hungry."

Lyre's licked his dry lips. "You...have no idea."

* * *

Sonata looked out over the Noise Marine camp from her perch on top of the Rhino. The night had been filled with music and sparring matches. Elision and Crasis had decided to grace the rest of the Aristocrats with their presence, then promptly retired to their bunks in the Rhino, bragging to Fret and Monody about their haul. Sonata had volunteered to take the sunrise watch to allow her bandmates to rest.

The _Swansong_ had retreated back earlier in the night, filling the air with a fanfare from its horns and choirs, signaling the end of this audition. Rumors had flown around the camp that Ruffati, the commander of the _Swansong_, had been looking for bands to join him. From what Sonata had heard, it wouldn't be a bad gig. She didn't know if the Aristocrats were on his list, or if Lyre would even join with a larger sponsor. It didn't seem like something he would do.

Bands that already accepted the offer had loaded up and followed the _Swansong_ out to a distant landing field, where dropships would come to collect them. Maybe after Lyre returned she could ask him about taking a furlough. The Aristocrats hadn't rested since Cornets passing. They could use the time to repair their armor, rest their minds, and in her case at least, get a much needed shower.

The sound of an assault bike ripped through their little corner of the camp. That wasn't an unusual sound, but she hadn't remembered anyone nearby owning an assault bike. Sonata turned her head to track the sound, hoping that some neophytes weren't out to cause any trouble this early. The bike picked a path around tents and other territory markers before making the final journey toward the Rhino.

Sonata stood up, then jumped down off the Rhino when she saw the familiar white of Lyre's hair in the moonlight. "Lyre!" she called out. He pulled up close to the Rhino, then cut the engine and dismounted from the bike. "Good to see you back."

Clef climbed out of the sidecar, the bandages around his torso had been removed and his bare chest and arms were sweaty. He picked up Forsworn from the sidecar and looped her strap over his shoulder, treating her gently. Just as Cornet had done. Sonata didn't know what to expect when she saw Clef again. Lyre had always been calm, but with Red Widows anger and appetite lurking just below the surface. Clef seemed to had lost a degree of the brilliance in his eyes. Gone was the ambitious boy who was trying to prove his worth. He now had the cool indifferent aura of a predator.

The other Aristocrats gradually came out of the Rhino, drawn by the sound of the bike and by Sonata's call to Lyre. Clef stood motionless, his expression neutral, as if he had forgotten how to feel. Lyre glanced up at his band. "We have a gig, should we chose to accept it."

"I take it Ruffati spoke with you?" Monody asked.

"He did."

"And your reply?"

"I told him I would come. But its up to the Aristocrats to make that call for themselves," Lyre pulled a canteen from one of the crates and drank deeply, then handed it off to Clef. Crasis slipped out of the Rhino, wearing nothing but a loincloth as he approached the bike.

"You...got an assault bike," Crasis mumbled under his breath.

Lyre ignored him for the moment. "It seems like a good deal on the surface. But things might change. Ruffati is looking for bands like ours. The pay is considerable, as are the benefits."

Fret folded his arms. "Does it get us out of the Rhino for a few weeks?"

"I have reason to believe so."

"Then I'm in."

Sonata called out. "Me too."

Monody and Elision gave their affirmatives.

Lyre nodded. "Right then, pack up. Ruffati leaves at dawn, and we have some distance to cover to catch up with him," without needing to be told twice, the Aristocrats began packing.

Monody called Clef over, and like a servitor Clef went to him, his steps measured and slow, as if he wasn't comfortable in his own skin anymore.

Lyre turned his attention to Crasis, who was giving the bike a once over.

"You got an assault bike," he muttered again.

"Its not mine. It belongs to the band."

"I can take care of it," Crasis said, looking up.

Lyre could see the mechadendrite slipping from Crasis' wrist and connecting with a port on the bikes handlebar. At that moment something clicked into place in Lyre's mind and he voiced the thought. "You were a White Scar once."

Crasis immediately bared his teeth. "Don't ever say that name again. It means nothing to me!"

Lyre dismissed his outburst. "I said you were 'once' but you're not anymore," he drew closer to Crasis. "We are all here because we were betrayed by our brothers. I don't care who you were. I only care about what you are now. A Noise Marine, an Aristocrat. Rank and former alliances mean nothing. If you can still use an assault bike, then its yours," Lyre held his arm out.

Crasis gripped Lyre's wrist in a warriors grip, and they shook once, both understanding that they fought as brothers, and that the past had been long since buried. They let go, and Lyre picked up a case from the ground and carried it into the Rhino.

Monody watched Clef pack up and stow away items inside the Rhino. The rest of the band seemed to avoid Clef, reluctant to address the obvious. After a few moments of silence, Monody finally approached the Noise Marine. "Clef?"

Clef looked up.

"How do you feel?"

"Fine," Clef answered mechanically.

"I don't believe that. Sit boy."

Clef hesitated, then sat down on a crate. Monody sat down before him, his brow knit in concentration as he studied the youth. "I ask again, how do you feel? And this time, hold Forsworn in your lap as you answer."

Clef pulled Forsworn from his back and rested her across his lap. Absently, he brushed his fingers over the strings, and the blank expression in his features faded for a moment. "I feel...empty. Hollow."

"That's a start. And what do you intend to do about it?"

"I don't know."

"And that's good too," Monody nodded. "That hollowness that you feel can be filled with many things, and none of them will ever satisfy you. You can fill up with rage, or with sorrow, or as in Lyre's case, you can hunger. But remember that you are the only one that can fill it, and you alone choose what will go in."

"I'm not sure I understand."

Monody sighed. "Lyre saved your body. and it is up to you to save your soul. But first you have to still want it."

Clefs hands rested over Forsworns strings, his eyes closed for a moment, as if listening to music only he could hear. "I do. I do want to fight for my soul...and Forsworns' too."

"Good boy," Monody patted him on the shoulder. "Now grab that crate and lets get moving."

"Monody," Clef reached out. "Thank you, I don't feel so empty anymore."

Monody laughed. "Its been said that I could convince a deamon to leave its skin. Good to know I haven't lost my touch!"

And Clef laughed, with his fingers resting on Forsworns strings, he laughed. And Lyre couldn't help but feel a little jealous.


	4. Track 04: Crimson Rhapsody

"_Mirrors on the ceiling,  
The pink champagne on ice  
And she said "We are all just prisoners here, of our own device,"_

_-Eagles, "Hotel California"_

* * *

Track 04: Crimson Rhapsody

The sky had taken on a rose tinted glow as Garron VII's sun began to climb. The Aristocrats had caught up with the other Warbands swiftly enough. Fret left the driving to Low Note, one of the band's three servitors, and kept his own attention fixed to the auspex. Crasis was happier than a grox in shit riding alongside the rhino with the assault bike. Lyre rested in the back, making the best use of the time spent traveling to both refresh his own mind and to reign Red Widow in after the events of the night.

Clef leaned between Fret and Low Note, looking out the forward vision blocks to their destination, and he couldn't help but feel overcome by awe. He had traveled on starships before, but they had always been impersonal things, large hives that just had many doors and traveled from place to place. There was no sense of scope or size outside of numerous corridors that Lyre often prevented him from discovering. The _Swansong _had been the biggest thing he had laid eyes on until today. The field before them was dotted with immense shuttles designed for surface to space transport. He counted familiar Stormbirds and even a few Thunderhawks in the mix. Some of them marked with the insignia and colors of different Warbands.

"Think we will ever get our own Stormbird Fret?" Clef asked. He had changed his clothing to a simple tunic and rugged pants typically worn by miners. It would have to do until they could arrange new armor for him.

Fret shrugged, the thin fabric of his hooded cloak rustled. "Not sure. For every new piece of equipment we get, we will need the support staff to care for it. We're doing alright, for such a small band, only because we're ruthless and have a good leader. But to get on level with some of these other bands, we will need to step up our pace."

Clef scanned the field. He could see the few rhinos and chimeras that belonged to Forlorn Hope and Surreal Scream, but he didn't see the Jesters anywhere, and mentioned it to Fret.

"Nah, Sonata told me they turned down the invitation," Fret glanced back at Clef. Even though the youth's eyes still had that dead stare, his curiosity was still present. Now that he thought on it, so were his other emotions. Clef was as stark of a contrast to Lyre as Cornet had been. Aside from the initial uncertainty of Clefs reawakening, he settled back into his place in the band as if nothing had ever happened.

Sonata had been taking it the hardest. Everyone in the band knew that she was trying to keep herself under control, but the mere presence of Forsworn in the cabin of the rhino was enough to stir up all manner of past memories of Cornet. Maybe that was why Crasis chose to drive the Assault Bike. Fret for one, was actually set at ease by Forsworns appearance. She brought a balance to the air to counter Red Widow's aggressive tendencies. Even Lyre, troubled as he typically was, seemed calmed by her presence.

And Clef, as young as he was, had taken to his new mistress with gusto. Fret just hoped he didn't treat her as roughly as his other equipment, or they would have two angry demonesses to contend with.

The _Swansong _was up ahead, surrounded by the much smaller vehicles of the Warbands present, and even more of the striking purple and white of Ruffati's support staff. Per Lyre's instructions, Fret headed for the _Swansong _to check in with Ruffati or his representatives. Purple and white tents had been erected for that purpose as the Warbands with their own surface to space transport were given launch windows and others such as the Aristocrats were assigned places on Ruffati's ships.

Ruffati's servants were everywhere. Humans in crisp purple and white uniforms with pillbox hats and carrying no weaponry. The ones in charge were easy to pick out due to gold embroidery on their uniforms or tasseled epulets on their shoulders. And shred, they were efficient. They made liberal use of speeders or other small terrain-covering vehicles, also impeccably detailed in purple and white. Fret acknowledged with a shrug that even the most pompous Imperial Guard or Eldar fighting unit would appear like a childish horde compared to Ruffati's staff. The Chaos Marines present were like nightmares given flesh next to the clean and healthy child-like faces in purple and white.

Fret took over driving the rhino as the ground crew waved them aside toward a line of other rhinos. A fresh faced juvie then approached the drivers side of the rhino and tapped on the vision block using a long stylus topped with a brilliant orange feather. Fret cracked the door open.

"Band name?" the boy asked, never looking up from his gilded data slate.

"The Aristocrats," Fret answered. Inside Clef tapped Lyre on his shoulder plating to rouse him.

The boy scanned his list. "Hmm...just a moment," he spoke into a small band on his wrist. "The Aristocrats have arrived...confirmed," he stepped aside and gestured with the feather. "Follow the green trail markers to your pick-up point," he then glanced up as Lyre leaned out of the doorway. The boy bowed sharply and earnestly. "By your leave," he took a few steps back, then headed for the next waiting transport.

Crasis pulled up alongside the rhino. Lyre gestured for him to follow and ducked back inside. They followed the green trail markers toward a series of white and purple tents, then stopped when another servant in purple and white livery stepped into the path of the rhino with a pair of red flags. Once again Lyre leaned out of the door.

"Please disembark here. My master wishes a word with the Aristocrats."

Fret sideglanced Lyre, then shrugged. Lyre looked over his bandmates. "Clef, Monody, with me," he stepped down from the rhino, the lights embedded in his armor flickered briefly between red and yellow, giving a quick command to Crasis to keep watch. The servant escorted them toward one of the larger tents, erected for shade primarily. As they drew closer, Ruffati himself came out to meet them.

"Ah! The Aristocrats! I was beginning to worry you wouldn't show," Ruffati strode confidently forward, extending his bare hand to Lyre. Lyre met it and they shook. Monody flanked Lyre on the right and Clef was on his left. Ruffati's eyes rested on Clef for a moment too long. "Well met," he returned his hand to is side and examined the smudge of grease and dirt that Lyre's gauntlet had left on his palm. "Please, come in," he retreated back to the tent, followed by his ever-present servants.

Monody caught Lyre's elbow. "I've run with a lot of bands, and worked for many warmasters, but this one unnerves even me."

Clef nodded in agreement.

"He's a little too eager, too organized, too neat."

Lyre nodded. "At the first sign of trouble, we leave. That much I promise."

Monody turned around, taking in the presence of all the purple and white uniforms. "At least they aren't armed..."

Lyre stepped into the tent, and was unsurprised to find Ruffati seated on a large ornately carved gilded chair with red velvet cushions. There were other chairs present, but Lyre preferred to stand. Clef and Monody resumed their places, flanking their bandleader.

"Before I go any further, I must ask," Ruffati stood up. "Is this your newest member? The one who took center stage during the raid?"

Lyre nodded. "This is Clef."

Ruffati looked Clef over, as if he was evaluating a recent purchase. That appraising glance was not lost on Lyre.

"Monody, Clef, I need a private word with Ruffati," Lyre said calmly, despite the urge to take Red Widow from his back and add this pink eyed fop to his tally. Monody and Clef retreated from the tent and Lyre turned on Ruffati. "Lets get one thing straight right away."

Ruffati returned to his chair as Lyre advanced on him. "I'm listening."

"You bought me. You didn't buy the band, and you sure as shred didn't buy Clef."

Ruffati only smiled. "I can see how you ended up so deeply in debt Lysander. Thats damn good work. Who did you use?"

"I need your word."

"You think my word is worth that much?" Ruffati almost chuckled. "We are all liars and thieves here. And in your case, cold killers. Its actually cute, that you want my 'word' of all things."

Lyre remained steadfast, even though Red had been awakened now and was wondering why he didn't get on with the killing already.

Ruffati sighed. "I don't need Clef. He's a gorgeous specimen, but I didn't expect any less from Cornets geneseed. Cornet is his predecessor right?"

Lyre nodded once.

"Wow...that is quite touching. I can see why you've become protective over him. No Lyre. I am after your services specifically. You have what I need."

Lyre relaxed just a little, just enough to let Red know that she could rest again. "And what would that be?"

Ruffati gestured to the tent flap. "Look out there Lyre. You see that rabble I've assembled? They call themselves Noise Marines, and that is a pity. You have mutants out there, making a racket, but not one of them is a true warrior. They aren't Noise Marines because none of them can play the guitar."

Lyre bit back his comment.

"No Lyre, I want you because of your abilities. I had been worried that you may have become too corrupted, or lost your talent. I know you owe your success as a Noise Marine to your previous experience in the musical arts. You were one of the only Astartes aboard the _Pride of the Emperor_ that actually played musical instruments before our highly exalted Lord and Master Slaanesh sent his servants to carry his message and divine blessings to our brothers. I heard it said that the only reason you and Cornet had made it to the Phoenix Guard is because Lord Fulgrim enjoyed your music-making," Ruffati casually filled the bowl of a long slender pipe with some kind of purple putty, then lit it. He took a deep draw and filled the air with soft sweet pink smoke. "I need someone that understands music. And from what I've seen of the Aristocrats, your band understands every last turn, bar, measure and scale."

Lyre's senses picked up on the smoke immediately. Like the wine, it had been centuries since he had last encountered this narcotic. Slaabur could be heady and overpowering even for a Space Marine. Already he felt his limbs begin to grow heavy and relaxed while his other senses sharpened. Sight, smell, taste, and even his thoughts grew stronger and clearer.

"You, I agree, maintain a debt to me that can be paid through your services. Your bandmates will receive a stipend and of course rights of spoil and salvage," he took another draw, filling the air with sweet smoke. On his exhale he watched Lyre close his eyes and attempt to cover his deep intake of breath. Ruffati then held out a dataslate with a contract on it for Lyre to sign. "Just a formality."

Lyre reached for it but his hand halted halfway. For all the quickness the smoke had given his senses, it had robbed him of his ability to fight. Ruffati watched quietly as Lyre's facial expression changed to one of pure disdain and cynicism.

"Hello Red Widow. I was wondering when you make an appearance," Ruffati smiled.

Red knocked the dataslate from Ruffati's hand, then leaned in closer.

Ruffati raised his hands in surrender. "I get your point. Lyre is not allowed to sign any contract save the one he is already serving with you."

Red nodded once, then stood up straight.

Ruffati reached to a table at his side and pulled out another dataslate. "Here. This one has information the Aristocrats will need," Red Widow snatched it from his hand, then turned and left the tent. Ruffati watched the Soul Slave walk away with a smile, that immediately faded as soon as the tent flap closed. He then turned to his right where a tech adept wearing black robes with silver trim stepped out from behind a fold in the fabric. "Did you get all of that Iben?"

"I did," Iben's vox coder screeched in a pleasant mix of scrapcode and High Gothic.

"Your verdict on Lyre then?"

There came a sound of gurgling and hissing from the tech adept's back, as he processed and shifted the liquid data concealed there. To Ruffati, Iben sounded like a machine making a pot of recaff. "He will satisfy your needs, provided you can secure his loyalty."

"I was right," Ruffati took another long draw on the pipe, finishing off what was in the bowl. "Lyre is a psyker."

"I cannot gauge how strong he is. That demon on his back has been sucking on him like candy, and as you see, if you threaten her, she will take her toy and leave. Query:"

"Shoot."

"My research had indicated that there were no psykers in the Emperors Children...but the readings I had taken from that Noise Marine indicate that his ability is not a recent gift of the gods. Perhaps he was born with it?"

Ruffati chuckled. "Your research is correct. There were no psykers in the III Legion. Lord Fulgrim believed them to be imperfections, and thus were eliminated or given over to the Black Ships. At least...the ones that were found out were. The others, and there were many many others, became very good at hiding. It was quite fortunate that Lord Fulgrim embraced the arts. Every human that has ever picked up a brush to paint or a pen to write, has had a subtle connection to the warp. When Astartes were encouraged to create their own art, it gave the psykers a chance to find release. I knew it when I heard Lysander give his first concert before Lord Fulgrim, that not even the enhanced reflexes and memory of a Space Marine could have composed music like that."

"Most promising indeed," Iben gurgled again. "By your leave, I shall finish securing the _Swansong _for transport."

* * *

The _Crimson Rhapsody_ was a stunning vessel. The deep curve and imposing scoop of its prow marked it as an Imperial Dauntless Class Light Cruiser. Odd enough to find in Chaos controlled space, but becoming of Ruffati nonetheless. A small fleet of gunboats and fighter craft glittered in its wake, escorts for the larger red and pink vessel with gold and brass accents. Upon docking with the _Crimson Rhapsody_, instructions were given to the Aristocrats for securing their rhino and assault bike. Fret parted ways with the band temporarily to oversee the equipment, while Ruffati himself met with Lyre and began to lead them through the ship.

The halls were as decadent as anyone could expect of a devotee of Slaanesh. Bright colors and rare minerals assaulted the eye. Twisted and strange artworks decorated the halls, and the scent of hallucinogenic incense hung in the air. Most of the Aristocrats had built up an immunity to many varieties of hallucinogens thanks to their time with the Jesters, but Sonata and Clef were beginning to show that starry-eyed glazed expression common to those in the thrall of the drug. Without being told, Elision and Crasis moved to either side of the Warsinger, ready to either support or defend her.

Ruffati spoke of the services the _Crimson Rhapsody_ as he led them through common areas, merchant quarters, and finally to the upper tiers. The incense here was not as powerful, and it had the odd, respectful quiet of a residential area. Their booted ceramite feet tapped and clicked along fine marble halls, lined with columns of even finer stone. Mirrors and alternating stained glass windows reflected the light of glow globes. Brightly colored vases held bouquets of even more brightly colored flowers. The constant saturation of the senses, subtle enticements and vices present all around told Lyre only one thing:

The entirety of the _Crimson Rhapsody_ was a temple devoted to the worship of Slaanesh.

They were in dangerous territory, although to what extent Lyre couldn't determine just yet. He watched as Ruffati halted before a large set of double doors made of heavy expensive wood, then pulled a great brass key ring on a chain from his pocket. He selected a key, slid it into the lock and opened the doors wide. Glow globes flickered on beyond the door, revealing a smaller but no less grand hall with an arched ceiling and polished granite floor. Twelve doors opened off to either side, and another pair of double doors at the end stood open, exposing a large and fully furnished sitting room.

"And these are your apartments," Ruffati stepped to the side, sweeping his arm before him.

Instantly Lyre tensed. The Aristocrats couldn't afford this kind of luxury, and he refused to become indebted to Ruffati anymore than he already was.

Ruffati took in the hard expressions around him and chuckled lightly. "I assure you. All of the bands on the _Crimson Rhapsody_ are in similar arrangements, insofar as their tastes are concerned. I know better than to throw my star performers to the jackals in the lower decks. I expect great things from the Aristocrats," he removed a key from the ring and placed it in Lyre's dirty gauntlet. "I know you won't disappoint me. I'll let you explore your new home. You have a day to settle in and get rested before we transition into the warp. Once there I will send one of my servants to fetch you and bring you to the war room where we will discuss the nature of our next operation," he turned on his heel and waved. "Ciao!"

For a moment the Aristocrats stood still as they examined their new surroundings. This was so much more than any of them had expected. Without being told, Elision and Crasis drew their bolters and began to move slowly up the hall, shoulder to shoulder. Lyre and Clef fell in behind them, Red Widow and Forsworn at the ready. Sonata and Monody brought up the rear, keeping watch behind them at the open door for any surprises.

Two by two, they searched the rooms. Ensuring that every closet, chest and wardrobe contained no secrets. The rooms were magnificent. With high vaulted ceilings painted in bright patterns and colors, intricately carved furniture, large four post beds with curtains that could be drawn, books and dataslates along with small eye catching baubles decorated the shelves, and racks for armor and weapons stood silent and expecting.

"Oh shred me sideways," Sonata chirped in delight when she opened one door to find the washroom. A steaming pool of hot water dominated a third of the room, set into the granite floor with steps leading down into the water. A shower and other facilities were behind more doors. They met up again in the common room, a large chamber with a low-hanging chandelier and more couches and chase lounges scattered around, inviting thoughts of lazy debates or an afternoon of reading.

Despite their relaxed surroundings, the Aristocrats remained tense. For years they had been using the rhino as their primary home, occasionally renting rooms for the short term aboard vessels while traveling, or occupying a building while involved in a raid. These decedent halls conjured up memories of times before, when billets like this had been the norm for themselves and their battle brothers. Lifetimes ago.

As one, the Aristocrats began to relax. Years of watching each other's back had forged them into one unit, almost one mind. They were just beginning to holster their weapons when a panel on the wall slammed open.

"So that's where this leads—Gah!" Fret put his arms up when he found himself in the sights of six different weapons.

Once again they lowered their weapons. "Where did you come from?" Clef asked.

Fret slowly lowered his arms and pointed to a passage behind him. "There's a set of stairs that lead down to our personal equipment bay. I just finished stowing the rhino and the bike once the Trio had cleared the area," Fret noted that Crasis kept his bolter trained on him for a bit longer than necessary.

Clef took a step back toward the center of the room. "Say what you please, but it's about time we had a chance to rest in such a nice setting."

Lyre still remained skeptical, and he could see his sentiments echoed by Crasis and Monody. Elision as ever was hard to read. "Fret."

"On it," Fret called one of the servitors, Off Key, to the upper levels, then began to sweep each room for vox thieves or pict devices the initial inspection the band made might have missed.

Lyre walked up the hall, peeking into rooms and claiming one for himself. If Ruffati had wanted them dead, then he had plenty of chances so far. The room, like all the others, was too grand considering how he had been living for the past few _millennia._ Sleeping under a variety of skies, inside even more kinds of transports and ships, surrounded by the bodies of his kills, in ditches and trenches of hundreds of thousands of different war zones. And yet...even these rooms were humble compared to his apartment on the _Pride of the Emperor._

He caught sight of his reflection in a large mirror, and almost brought Red around in defense. Before him stood a rough, battered and scarred figure. He could not have been further from the warrior he had been once, clad in brilliant purple and gold. Now his armor was dirty, greasy and gray. Thin layers of poorly painted purple tried to make a show, but had ultimately been overcome by the dust and dried blood of countless planets and bodies. His helm was at his side, equally dirty, the feathered crest brilliant yellow despite, or perhaps because of the contrast of the rest of him. But worse was his face.

Lyre had figured that he would need to bathe, but didn't know to what extent until he had a chance to get a good look at himself. His white hair had become overgrown, tangled and unruly, and had a greasy gray appearance that almost matched his armor. His beard was likewise, thin, wispy and long, greasy and gray. His eyes were hard and empty, like colored chips of glass set in a granite rock face. Yes, that is how he appeared, like a gollem carved from stone and given the appearance of a Space Marine. But Red Widow...she was as brilliant as ever. Not one fleck of dust or dirt on her surface, nor smear of blood or grease to affect her beauty.

His reverie was broken by Monody peeking his terrifying head into the room and cackling like a juvie on the playground. "Praise the Ruinous Powers! All the rooms are equally grand!" he ducked back out again to open more doors up the hall.

Clef entered soon after, knocking lightly on the door frame before entering. "Sonata has claimed a room at the end of the hall. I think she intends to make use of the bathing chamber."

"Heh," Crasis grumbled as he walked by Lyre's door carrying a load up from the rhino. "Women and their obsession with bathing."

"Perhaps a bath would do you good Crasis," Monody chuckled on his way back down the hall.

"Speak for yourself Three-Teeth! There's nothing wrong with a good musk to ward off your enemies."

"'Musk' he calls it. Plague Marines would be envious of your stench," Monody continued down the hall leaving Crasis to grumble to himself.

Clef smiled as he waited for the two of them to move on. "Fret reports that he has not found any spying devices in any of the rooms, and that the servitors are on patrol."

Lyre's comment died on his lips when a chime sounded at the end of the hall, followed by the sound of several weapons being drawn. Clef stepped into Lyre's room, using the door frame as cover, and noted that Crasis and Monody had done likewise in various other rooms in the hall. Sonata was at the entrance of hers, bolt pistol in one hand, chainsword in the other. Lyre stepped past Clef, making himself visible to determine if the visitor was friend or foe.

The main doors at the end of hall opened and an aged human wearing the purple and white livery of Ruffati's staff stepped in, then off to the side. "My Lords," he bowed. "I am Hariam, your concierge, I am here to bring you your meal and servants," he gestured to the outer hall behind him where nine humans, barely out of their childhood years, stood waiting. Six boys and three girls, all wearing purple and white. "There are here to assist and respond to your whims."

"We have no need for servants," Lyre said.

"My Lord, they come with the room, much like the furniture, to do with as you please."

"We will summon them as needed then."

"Very well my Lord," Hariam then waved another group in the hall past him, each one carrying either a small table or a covered tray.

The Aristocrats stood on guard as the servants marched past toward the common room and set down the tables and trays, arranged them, removed the lids, then left quietly with eyes downturned. Lyre could feel the scent of so many decadent and fine foods hit his senses at once. With a quick glance he could see the hunger and desperation in the eyes of his bandmates. They were all starving dogs, held back solely by Lyre's word. Never had he felt the weight of leadership so acutely as this moment. The Aristocrats stood eager for his command. To either kill the servants for intruding, or permission to fill their stomachs.

The last of the servants filed out, and Hariam bowed once more. "Should you need assistance, pull the cord at the side of the door here," he gestured to a long golden rope twisted with purple threads. The door clicked shut and the tension in the air grew thicker.

Starving dogs. Each one already weighing the abilities of their bandmates to see who would make it to the buffet first. Lyre gave an almost imperceptible nod, and as one, the Aristocrats ran for the main room and descended upon the platters of meat and foodstuffs like beasts. Lyre watched, his own hunger gnawing at him. He could easily have told any of them to step aside, but he waited. He had led the Aristocrats from battlefield to battlefield, feeding their lust for battle and glory, but had neglected other needs of his band. Needs that Ruffati had filled so neatly and in such a short time. Food was only one small yet basic part. If anything, the sudden ambition that had come over Crasis when gifted the assault bike was only part of it. They needed a purpose, they needed to belong.

"Everyone," Monody spoke above the clatter of plates and cutlery, his vocal training as a Word Bearer immediately drawing the attention of all present. "Where are our manners? We must give thanks."

"Can't it wait?" Clef groaned.

Monody ignored him and began a prayer, even as Crasis ripped into the leg of some kind of fowl in protest. "Let us give thanks to Chaos Undivided for this feast. Let us devour our foes as we do these potatoes, let us crack their bones for marrow as we do this mutton before us, may they be rendered as infertile as these eggs upon which we dine, and may their fortunes always be ploin-shaped. Amen."

"Amen," the Aristocrats echoed, then the sound of jaws smacking and drinks being swallowed began anew.

Lyre used a napkin to wipe his gauntlets mostly clean, then loaded up a plate with food. Nothing here had come from a ration package. Everything from the meats to the vegetables and grains were fresh. He noted an untouched wineskin and a row of goblets. Setting his plate down he filled one, noting the scent and color immediately. Lord Fulgrims wine. In his heart he would always know it as Lord Fulgrims wine. "A toast," he called out, raising the heavy crystal goblet high. "To the Aristocrats!"

"To the Aristocrats!"

They drank as one, and secretly Lyre made a promise. They were Aristocrats, and would live and fight as such. They would never again be starving dogs.

* * *

The lower holds and halls of the _Crimson Rhapsody_ were crammed to the hull with every vice, desire and perversion imaginable. Pleasure dens, gambling houses, any number of pit fighting rings, and more flesh on offer for sexual or sadistic perversions than Clef could even comprehend. Hall after hall, tier after tier of loud pounding music and the clatter of conversation punctuated by the occasional scream of ecstasy or rage. Multicolored light that had been twisted to form letters or images covered every surface, advertising businesses or singing the praises of Slaanesh. "Maybe it was a bad idea to bring Elision," Clef commented.

"Eh, Eli can care for himself," Crasis growled, his dark eyes alighting on a pair of voluptuous women as they walked past, clothed only in gold paint and sin. "I'm more worried about you boy. Your eyes are as wide as saucers."

A girl painted blue wearing silver bands on her wrists and ankles suddenly wrapped her arms around Clefs shoulders. "Mmmm! A fresh one! Ever been with a woman?" her voice then dropped an octave. "Or perhaps you prefer a man?"

Clef froze in place much to Crasis' delight. The air split with his sudden laughter. "Get gone harpy!"

The pleasure girl kissed Clef on the cheek, leaving a perfect print of blue sparkling lips, then joined her cadre, laughing as they became lost in the crowds. Clef remained fixed to the spot for a moment, using one of the mantras Monody had taught him to gain control of his senses again. He rested his hand on Forsworns strings and felt her calm move through him. Before her influence over him, he would have taken that girl up on her offer. He would have become lost in all the taunts and vices this ship had on display and never looked back. But now,

None of it really seemed to interest him.

Crasis laughed again, then gave Clef a slap on his back. Clef was still without any useable armor, and the hit made him stumble. It would probably bruise for an hour or so before healing. "Where is Elision anyway?" he turned and searched the crowds, and saw their fellow Aristocrat at an arms dealer looking over the weapons on display.

"See anything you like?" Crasis asked.

Elision shook his head, the lights along his scalp flickered in brief Solresol for "overpriced" and "bad quality." He rejoined his bandmates as they shouldered their way through the crowded halls. Up ahead rising head and shoulders above most of the crowd was an Iron Warrior in terminator armor arguing with a shopkeeper. "Stay away from that one. Stim junkie."

"How can you tell?" Clef asked.

"See the blue veining on his forehead? Most of his hair has fallen out as well. I don't think that's from any gift of the Ruinous Powers. Unless he's a Slaaneshie gone Nurgling."

Elision chuckled darkly.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Crasis countered.

The terminator roared and a table flipped over. Crasis sighed. "And that would be the universal sign that things are about to get ugly here," in response, the terminator drew up one of his arms and began firing away indiscriminately into the crowd and surrounding shops. "Shred. Elision we can't let him have all the fun now can we?"

Elision blurted an intelligible screech of scrapcode, and readied his Blaster. Crasis cackled. It had been over twenty-four hours since he had last killed something, he was overdue, and it had been ages since he had fought a Space Marine in terminator armor. At his side, Clef stood ready with Forsworn.

"Boy! You have no armor!"

"I'll be fine. There are more than enough bodies between me and him to absorb any bolts headed my way," Clef smiled.

"Thats my pupil!" Crasis lifted his Blaster and opened fire. Concentrated pulses of sound and light ripped through the crowd, sending up puffs of blood to mix with the pink incense in the air. The pounding music around them intensified as the crowd attempted to flee, but was unsure which direction would be the best for their interests. Some were fleeing for their lives, others were deliberately jumping into the path of the bolt rounds and sonic blasts calling out their devotion to Slaanesh. Clef read the crowd, as Lyre had taught him. In large groups people acted as one unit, one mind. He had trained Clef to never succumb to that instinct, but to instead use it to his advantage.

Doors opened or closed, blast doors sealed, locking and blocking the crowd, sending them into new panics and new directions, they behaved like a liquid, searching for an escape. Clef ran alongside one group, then held back, allowing them to part before him. As they did, Clef brought Forsworn around and struck a chord that would send a wave along the ground to strike his enemy at the knees. The attack left his fingers and traveled as it should have, but it was weak, and left Clef feeling drained. However it did succeed in getting the terminators attention.

Clef dove behind another cluster of the escaping crowds as the Iron Warrior's under-mounted storm bolter ripped through more bodies around him. Crasis and Elision stood back to back, targeting and alternating fire upon the terminator. Clef felt exhaustion pull at him as he pondered why Forsworns attack had been so weak. The crowds parted again and this time Clef went for a more direct attack, aiming high in an attempt to strike the Iron Warrior in the face. If Forsworn was going to be weak, then he would need to place the shots where they would do the most damage.

The terminator turned at the last moment, deflecting the brunt of the attack with his massive shoulder. His bloodshot and hateful gaze locked on Clef and he brought the storm bolter up again, this time running to close the distance.

"Keep his attention!" Crasis shouted. Then opened fire again on the terminator, drawing his focus from Clef. Predictably, the enraged Iron Warrior turned on this new threat, and Crasis went for cover behind a pillar. He cackled as Elision blurted out a command in the Aristocrats battle code and Clef obeyed. Using small pulse shots from between gaps in the crowd, Clef circled the terminator, drawing closer by degrees. By now his meat shield had thinned, the people either dead on the ground or having found other places to hide and wait out the battle. Clef noted with no small amusement that the combat had not stopped a pleasure girl from taking her customer...or rather her customer taking her.

By now the terminator had his back to Clef. Not that it would do any good. The back of a terminator was just as armored as the front, if not more so. Realization finally clicked in. Forsworn wasn't as powerful because he hadn't fed her as many souls as Lyre had given Red Widow. He hadn't given her anything since becoming her slave. He felt a smile tug at his lips. "Forsworn, why didn't you tell me you needed some refreshment?" she wasn't strong enough to fight the terminator on her own. So Clef would just need to help her along.

Looping the chainmail strap off his shoulder, Clef grabbed Forsworn by her neck and tightened his grip. _"Hey!"_ he shouted, using his Warp Scream for added effect. _"Your Primarch sucked the Emperor's golden cock!"_

The Iron Warrior swung around, roaring at the insult. Before he could bring his storm bolter up to take aim, Clef jumped, landing on the larger Space Marines arm. One foot on his shoulder, the other on his gauntlet, then swung Forsworn like a club, bringing her full weight and his full strength around into the terminators face. Clef added his Warp Scream to the attack, taking full advantage of the close proximity of his foe. The Iron Warriors face caved in under the impact, his blood absorbed into Forsworns black surface. The terminator stumbled backward, and Clef pulled Forsworn to his side once more, then rode the massive construct of ceramite and rage to the ground. Even before the Iron Warrior hit the floor, Clef stomped down with his right foot, passing clean through the remains of the terminators face and out the back of his head.

For a moment all was still. Clef's hands remained tight on Forsworns neck as a vile stench rose from the twitching body of the terminator under his foot. Underneath him, he could feel a roar of pain and indignation. For a moment he wondered if the Iron Warrior had set off a krak grenade as he fell. But then he felt Forsworns comforting presence, and a charge went through him. Igniting all of his senses, pushing him to highs he had never before felt. His skin prickled even as the Iron Warriors soul screamed all around him. Then there was only silence, and the satiated satisfaction of a good kill. He felt alive again, energized again, and Forsworn was pleased.

Clef stepped off the body and shook a chunk of brain matter from his toe. A crowd had gathered again, howls and calls of delight and praise. He smiled sheepishly, then looked down at his kill. It was his. He could pick the body clean and even claim the terminator armor for himself. That was a tempting thought, but it could backfire if the Iron Warrior had a Warband that would seek revenge. Instead Clef placed a foot on the massive chestplate like a big game hunter and rested Forsworn on his shoulder, then shouted two words.

"For sale!"

* * *

The apartment was quiet for the time. After the food had been eaten, Crasis, Elision and Clef had stepped out to explore more of what the _Crimson Rhapsody_ had to offer. Sonata had taken full advantage of the bathing chamber while Fret retired to the garage to work on repairs and clean their equipment. Monody had removed his armor then donned a simple gray robe. He must have visited the bathing chamber as well because the next that Lyre saw him, Monody was clean-shaven, the stubble on his head removed along with the majority of the grit their past months of travel had deposited on his person.

Lyre wanted to rest. He was as tired as any of his band, but his mind spun with so many new thoughts. Like a servitor he paced the halls, keeping watch with nothing else more to do. Sometimes he would pause in one room or another, feeling like a caged beast. Some hours later the main doors opened to the sound of drunken laughter. The rest of the band had returned, bearing a few new scars and equipment.

Crasis was in better spirits than Lyre had seen in years. "You would be proud of the boy," he reported. "Killed an Iron Warrior in terminator armor with nothing but his mouth."

Clef entered the hall, giddy and euphoric from claiming his first soul. "Crasis and Elision softened him up. Got some money out of it," he stopped and held up a leather purse that had been someone's face at one time.

Lyre knew that if he so chose, he could take the money and add it to the Aristocrats limited treasury. Crasis smirked. "The boy earned it, armor isn't cheap."

"Keep it Clef," Lyre agreed. Fret had managed to repair some ancient carapace armor for Clef to use, but it still wouldn't take the place of a proper suit.

Clef nodded in thanks, then went to his room to put his things away.

Thus far the agreement with Ruffati had been good for the band. It would so easy to get comfortable here. Ah, so that had been the source of his worry. It would be tempting to get comfortable on the _Crimson Rhapsody_, with ready access to everything they could ever want and the call of battle just a promise away. Even more than any drug or pleasure, complacency had been the downfall of many great empires.

Crasis and Elision went to their rooms and Monody emerged from his to relieve Lyre for his watch. Even though they had the Trio roaming the halls, old habits were hard to break. Lyre retired to his own room and closed the door. The bed was inviting, and the low light invited comfort and security, but Lyre still found himself pacing restlessly.

He was hungry, but not hungry. He was tired but couldn't rest. He tried to read some of the books present but couldn't focus, couldn't relax. He tried to busy himself with searching for vox thieves or other equipment that Fret may have missed, but turned up nothing. Crasis and Clef were making a lot of noise in the common room as they sparred with each other, but even that ruckus died down eventually. The apartment grew silent, save for the slow steps of the servitors and vague whispers from Monody as he prayed.

Unable to sleep, or rest in any way, Lyre opened his door and stepped back out into the hall. He passed Monody in the common area, then through the hidden panel on the wall and down to the equipment bay. It was a generous room with plenty of overhead lighting that had been dimmed for their sleep cycle. Fret sat in an equipment cage at a large wooden bench, checking over the band's weapons. The assault bike was parked in a corner of the bay surrounded by a few tools and equipment that Crasis wanted to install, and the rhino took up another portion of the bay. All the doors and windows on the rhino had been opened to allow the vehicle to air out, and its various weapons had been removed for cleaning.

"Hey Boss," Fret said, acknowledging Lyre. "I was wondering when you would make it down here."

"I couldn't sleep."

Fret chuckled. "Well, take comfort in that you weren't the only one," he nodded his head toward the rhino. Lyre leaned inside and was greeted by the familiar smells of the last few decades. All of the bunks had been stripped of bedding—except one.

Sonata was curled up in her customary place, her hair freshly washed and seemingly ethereal as it spread across her pillow. Her skin was clean and her scent light. Lyre watched her for a moment, then stepped inside and pulled her thin threadbare blanket up to cover her shoulder.

Fret had begun tinkering again, and Lyre sat down in his usual spot, against the wall of the driver's compartment. Only then did his head drop back to rest on the top of his backpack. Fret couldn't resist a smile when a moment later he detected the almost imperceptible sound of Lyre sleeping.

* * *

Sonata awoke with a start and sat up in her bunk, her hand immediately flying to the holster on the side frame where her bolt pistol was stowed. She had been woken up by a loud noise and for the moment was disoriented. Slowly she removed her hand from the grip of her weapon, then swung her feet out over the side of the bunk and dropped the remaining meter to the floor. The Warsinger had fallen asleep in her dressing gown, it being one of the only clean items of clothing she had left. She took her robe from its usual hook at the side and pulled it on over the gown to keep the chill away, then slipped into a pair of loose leather boots and stepped out of the rhino.

Crasis was in the corner working on his assault bike, diligently removing pieces of framework and piping then inspecting each one for potentially harmful stress cracks or previous shoddy repairs. He turned and grunted a greeting, then went back to work. Sonata slipped back into the rhino and fetched her bolt pistol and her weapons belt. Crasis was a psycho, but at least he was occupied for the time being.

Fret was in a mesh cage, surrounded by numerous projects. Sonata approached him, stretching. "How long was I asleep?"

"Nine hours," Fret answered. He learned long ago that unless requested, he didn't need to give any more detail than that. "Lyre had come down earlier too. Tucked you in and then passed out himself."

"He did? I think I remember something of it," she found a clear spot and sat down. "Shred, nice carapace armor."

Fret held up a gauntlet that had been freshly painted in purple. "Coming along nicely isn't it? Something for Clef to use until we can find better."

"Frak, I need to go shopping for some new armor for myself. I gave mine a good cleaning after my bath last night, but it has seen better days."

"I can take a look at it. See what we have here and what I can source from the _Crimson Rhapsody_. On that note, Sonata?" Fret set the piece down and glanced over at Crasis in the corner. The Space Marine was completely engrossed in his own work on the bike.

Sonata pulled her legs up and folded them partially underneath her on her seat. "Hmm?"

"I've been on the noosphere all night, chatting and exchanging data with the other techs on this ship. We are in a whole other league here Sonata. No more of these little side-jobs that Lyre has been taking, no more of these hit and run raids. Rumor is that our next destination is a full-on Imperial forge world, at full strength with elements of a Titan legion present. I don't know what our role will be, but the attendants of the _Swansong _say that she is to be prepped for battle."

"Get to the point Fret."

"At the risk of upsetting one of the finest Warsingers I have ever met, it's no place for you. There will be nothing but Space Marines and Skiitari as far as the eye can see. Your armor isn't as strong as what the others wear, and you don't have the maneuverability that they do," he saw her eyes narrow at him. Sonata had been managing to keep up with their actions in the past, but just barely, and almost always walking away with some large wound or another. But still she kept fighting at their side, reading and relaying the flow of battle from the air, dealing out vengeance when needed. Before she could speak he raised a hand. "But, I'm not saying that you should stay home. I've been in contact with a few churgeons on board. Instead of getting new armor, there are two things you should consider."

"One is a Larramans organ. Its a Space Marine enhancement that releases additional clotting agents to stop bleeding and helps wounds to heal faster. If you get shot again, you won't bleed out so much. It also assists in the healing process. Forge worlds are known for having frakked-up air. Particles of rust and other materials have been known to bypass rebreather systems and lodge in the lungs, causing internal bleeding. The Larramans organ will help keep that down to a tolerable minimum, and I'll give your armor a complete check-up and upgrade what I can."

"Secondly, you need a Black Carapace. It serves primarily as an interface with your power armor, but can also double as a back-up defense. You have superb reaction and athletic skills on your own, but its muffled by the lack of interface with your armor. I found a guy that is able to do both for you. I already talked it over with Lyre. He's for it."

Sonata chewed on this thought for a moment. "You're suggesting I get Space Marine organs."

"Yep."

She folded her arms and leaned back. "Shred. I'm not even going to question how you know these things. Horus knows I've spent enough time with scavengers to be able to name most of these organs off from memory. But I thought they were only meant to enhance the male body. They won't work on a female."

Fret sighed, and it came off as more of a blurred gurgle. For a tech adept he was able to display a wide range of emotions. Sonata wondered if like Lyre he had learned to pantomime from the Jesters. "Alright, how to explain this in terms you can understand," he tapped his foot on the floor. "The common misconception is that male and female humans are like two different species that somehow manage to create offspring. This is not the case. If anything that barrier exists only in your head. I can use the Mechanicus to help this argument. When someone, male or female decides to devote their lives to the machine, the first thing that is typically removed are the organs that define gender. This is a big barrier for them, after all from the moment of birth humans define themselves by gender first and foremost. There is no girl, there is no boy, there is only devotion to the worship of the machine god. When you strip away all the elements that are required to create more members of the species, you are left with pretty much the same template to work with. Granted its safer to conduct this process at a younger age, before the physical changes puberty brings on kick in.

"And that brings us to Space Marines. Now, I don't know all of the little details involved because so much of it is buried eyeballs deep in pomp and ceremony, but there are only a few organs that require higher concentrations of male hormones, but the ones I have recommended aren't affected by hormone balance," he glanced up toward her, his one green optic flickering. "Any of this settling in?"

"I think," Sonata raised a hand and rested her head on her open palm. In part she was jealous, in part she was glad. Humanity had once been a great and noble race, with technological advancements that had allowed them to conquer and settle the stars. She had known this, of course, as a battle sister. She had taken a vow to uphold the Emperors vision of a galaxy ruled by humanity, to restore the visions of yesteryear. But in exchange, she had accepted lies and dogma, built her realm of belief and understanding on another humans fears. Ever since joining Cornet and Lyre, her entire world had been deconstructed and rebuilt, only to be torn down again. "How soon will I need to visit this apothecary?"

"Today if possible. We're going to need time to do it right," Fret nodded.

"Fret?" Sonata asked, her expression one of curiosity. "Why aren't you like other tech adepts I've met? The others practice emotional restraint and cold logic. You're different."

Fret grew quiet, then said. "You've heard the expression, 'Be careful of when you stare into the abyss, because then you notice the abyss is staring back?'"

"Vaguely, but I get your point."

Fret gurgled a sigh again. "One day I realized that it wasn't an abyss at all. Its a mirror. And I saw no logic or beauty or god-like refinement in what was looking back at me. I could no longer exist while defined by someone else's limited experiences. I didn't like me. But I have the power to change it. And to write my own definition of who I am."

Across the bay Crasis shouted. "Amen to that!"

* * *

Sonata and Fret emerged from the garage and into the common area of the Aristocrats apartment. Dead Beat fumbled along after them, its mismatched armor clanking as it walked. Clef was sitting on one fainting couch, Forsworn in his lap, practicing his fingering on the strings. He nodded to them and went back to his practice. Sonata glanced around to find Monody, and was surprised when the door to the washroom opened. Three servants emerged, carrying bundles of dirty fabric and other trash. They turned as one and bowed to the figure that emerged from the room.

Sonata gasped, surprised and a little stunned by Lyre's drastic change in appearance. His armor no longer had that grey greasy cast to it. Instead it was the deep purple and flaring yellow she had come to associate with him. The Aristocrats icon on his right shoulder stood out in luminous gold, the blue and maroon harlequin diamonds had each been lined in thin threads of silver twists, with studs set at the points. His hair was brilliant white and clean, tied back with a thin strip of leather and his thin beard had been shaved off. Lyre looked centuries younger.

Sonata almost skipped to his side, then stopped short when she saw Red Widow in his hand. She had never been wary of inanimate objects, but Red Widow was an exception. A foul odor drifted from somewhere behind her and Crasis' voice boomed in the hall.

"Eh Lyre! You smell nice. Special occasion?"

"Get cleaned up. You and Monody are accompanying me to the war room. Ruffati is getting the bands together to brief us on this next gig," Lyre slipped Red Widow's strap over his shoulder.

The closer Crasis drew toward Sonata, the more intense his body odor became, and the contrast between Lyre and Crasis became more pronounced. Lyre smelled fresh, Crasis reeked like a decaying body.

"I'll wipe some of the grease off my armor then, should be good to go after that," Crasis paused directly behind Sonata and she felt a gag in the back of her throat. She suddenly turned on him.

_"Crasis!"_ she shouted, the demon in her throat awakening, giving her voice the added benefit of a localized concussive blast. _"For shreds sake, go scrub your balls!"_

Crasis stumbled backward, not expecting the attack, no matter how mild. He gained his bearings again inside the washroom and Sonata slammed the door, locking him in. The door shook once as he pounded his fist on the other side, rattling Sonata away. Without her armor she was lighter and so much more weaker than her bandmates.

"You break it, you bought it," Lyre said smoothly. The pounding stopped. Lyre was quietly impressed that the door could take such a beating from a Space Marine like Crasis. He turned his full attention to Sonata and Fret. "Will you two be alright? Should I send Elision along for extra security?"

"Not necessary," Fret shrugged. "Getting the implants isn't the hard part. It's the recovery that sucks."

Lyre stepped aside, allowing them to pass. The three servants stood obediently in the hall, each one looking toward but not at Lyre. The door behind him rattled as Crasis tried the lock once more. Lyre smirked grimly and then called. "I'm sending in three assistants for you. Make good use of them."

The kid on the far right rolled his eyes, then along with his companions, went to tackle their next challenge.

* * *

The war room of the Crimson Rhapsody was an amphitheater that simultaneously felt colossal and intimate. Where honor banners had once graced the curves of the ceiling, new banners that sang the praises of Slaanesh hung alongside the standards of those Ruffati called his allies. Despite the size of the room, only four bands had been assembled, each one assigned a cluster of seats for the meeting. The Aristocrats had arrived early. Primarily to secure good seats and partly to observe their competition.

Forlorn Hope was the next band to arrive. Five young Space Marines stumbled into the amphitheater, laughing or shouting loudly, their armor covered in graffiti from all over the galaxy, spikes and chains lining or accenting nearly every surface. Darren gave a whoop of greeting to Crasis, who returned it with gusto. Forgoing their assigned seating, Forlorn Hope surrounded the Aristocrats, kindred spirits united by their mutual thirst for destruction. They settled in, and immediately rested ceramite boots on the backs of the chairs in front of them, or carved symbols and names into the armrests while they waited for the meeting to begin.

Next in was a band Lyre had never seen before, but assumed they were part of the attack on the refinery. They entered the hall to the sound of timed shouts from dozens of human servants, each one dressed in bright red, orange and yellow. Deep bass rhythms and drums caused the banners overhead to sway. Crasis and Darren even joined in the call-and-response chanting. One human servant, dressed in little more than orange paint and yellow rags, stood up in a seat and shouted. "Announcing Lord Luminus and Worlds Aflame! Witness the blazing glory of the burning angel! Praise to Slaanesh! Praise to Chaos Undivided! Worlds Aflame!" a Space Marine the Aristocrats assumed was Luminus entered the room, a pair of impressive burning wings extending from his back. He walked stiffly, his boots hitting the ground in time with the drum beats of his entourage. The chants and drumming stopped as Luminus sat on a metal throne his servants had erected for him.

Next to Lyre, Monody snickered under his breath. "I'm beginning to feel a little under-dressed. At least we managed to exercise most of the Nurgle-spawn from Crasis' armpits."

Last to arrive was Surreal Scream. Like Worlds Aflame, they too had an abundance of servants. Fifty women wearing black gowns and their faces hidden behind veils made of chainmail entered first. Each sang a low steady note while scattering blood red rose petals before them. Next came servitors and tech guard, each one bearing a weapon. One held a finely crafted power sword, while two others carried a thunder hammer between them. Then came no less than five armored Warsingers. Each one dressed in flat black armor with only one red teardrop painted on their chest plates. In place of helmets, each wore a smooth silver half-mask with a series of tiny, overlapping chains to cover the lower half of their faces. Behind the Warsingers was Clersk. Leader of Surreal Scream. Clersk wore black armor like his Warsingers, devoid of any ornamentation. His hairless skin was chalk white and his eyes were two solid red orbs with no trace of pupil or iris. His harem drew together, forming a throne of their own bodies for him to rest on.

Ruffati and Sargent Adek of the Black Legion were the last to enter, escorted by a flock of servants and flanked by servitors in brass armor. Ruffati's appearance was so neat and precise, that even all the posturing done by Worlds Aflame and Surreal Scream seemed weak in comparison. Crasis groaned and sank further into his seat. "Enough with the introductions. Lets just get on with it."

Ruffati stood next to a large holo projector that dominated most of the floor in the amphitheater. "I trust everyone is satisfied with their accommodations? Yes? Good. If I may have your attention, I will brief everyone on your next gig. I'll use small words so everyone here can understand the importance of this mission," he cast a glance to Forlorn Hope before turning to a manchine wearing a black robe. The adept tapped a few runes on the control console on the projector. Monody noticed that the adept didn't bother to begin by blessing the machine or trying to appease its spirit. He just jumped right in, much in the same way Fret did.

"This is Solinoidia," Ruffati called out, his voice carrying easily to the upper decks in the hall. "An Imperial forge world in the Lysades sub-sector of Segmentum Obscurus. It has been a hotly contested battleground for the past several years. Solinoidia produces a wide array of equipment for the Imperial Navy, primarily ship weaponry and ammunition. Taking this world would greatly benefit our masters and our cause. Sargent Adek is part of a relief force to break a stalemate at Bearing Hive on the southern hemisphere. I have been commissioned by the Despoiler himself to deliver the good Sargent and necessary materiel to the surface," he gestured to the holo. "But as everyone can see, Imperial forces have overrun and secured all ideal landing zones. Combined with Bearing Hive's highly effective combination of shielding and surface to air defenses, the situation is becoming more dire by the day."

Ruffati paged through a few screens depicting various data on the many weapons and predicted range of effectiveness. Bearing Hive resembled a large cog with eight teeth, as if it had been dropped from space onto the planets surface. On each tooth stood a massive defense turret that would shoot down anything that came close. At any given point, two turrets would cover any one angle of approach. The Imperials had done a remarkable job in overlapping various lanes of fire. Anything coming close to the hive would be shot down before it had an opportunity to land.

"Noise Marines, this is why I had selected your bands, to secure a landing zone for delivery of supplies and reinforcements. I have never failed in a delivery and I do not intend to start now. We are not here to conquer. At best we might provide Sargent Adek and his Space Marines a toehold to turn the tide in this operation. There is money to be made and I-we don't have all cycle. Now the floor is open to ideas and suggestions. Your resources are what you see before you. Four Noise Marine bands, with a total of twenty-five Space Marines and seven Warsingers between you."

Darren, the leader of Forlorn Hope called out first. "So we're just here to make a mess?"

"Of the hive if possible," Ruffati shot back.

"Shred. Don't know what the rest of you are going to do then. Forlorn Hope has that covered. Might leave something for the Aristocrats to burn down when we're done."

Gentle, yet mocking laughter rolled through the hall. The loudest of which was Crasis, who slapped Darren roughly on the shoulder.

Clersk of Surreal Scream spoke from his throne of living bodies. He gestured to the holo. "I'm assuming all angles of approach have been examined? Where are your forces located Sargent?"

Adek stepped toward the console this time. "Our forces have entrenched in the slums, caught between the hive's defenses and the long range armor of the Imperial Guard. Loyalist Space Marines occasionally venture into the slums in an attempt to flush them out, but they underestimate the skill and resolve of my brethren."

Luminus of Worlds Aflame then asked. "And who has been foolish enough to step foot into this grinder?"

Adek changed the holo to rotate through a few blurry images of loyalist Space Marines. "Thus far we have identified two chapters. The Subjugators, and the White Consuls."

Monody laughed and all eyes turned on him. "No wonder there is a stalemate. The White Consuls are known for their urban combat abilities just as the Subjugators are known for their ruthlessness. Can't hope to win this one by attrition alone."

The holo changed to an overhead map of Bearing Hive, known Imperial points and strongholds were picked out in yellow. Clersk spoke again. "That area there to the east of the hive, what is it?"

"An Imperial base," Adek grumbled.

"Shredded shame that," Darren sat back and folded his arms. "The Imperials took all the best seats for the show."

Lyre nodded in agreement. The base was in an ideal location. Open enough to allow transports in and to stage large assaults, but still under the cover of the hives defenses. "We need to secure that base."

Clersk shot back. "Even if we secure the base, we still are at the mercy of those defense turrets. The moment the Imperials hear the base has been over-run, they will turn the two closest turrets on the base. So in that case we will need to eliminate them first."

Ruffati had to agree. Gaining the base and destroying the two closest turrets to it would cover the slums nicely and give them all the time he needed to deliver Sargent Adek and his materiel. "Thats all good, but again, how do we intend to go about it?"

"Give me some drop-pods and I'll make it happen," Luminus said.

"I would love to," Ruffati answered. "But they are expensive and would be shot down out of the sky before you came close."

Hit with a sudden inspiration, Lyre stood up. "No, thats exactly what we need," his voice cut through the background murmuring effortlessly. "We are Noise Marines, and we will make war as Noise Marines. The strategy is already before us," he pointed at the holo. "There. The Devils Interval. We play all three targets."

Luminus began to chuckle mockingly. "The Slave has lost his mind. Thats a dangerous maneuver. We don't have the resources to play all three fronts."

Lyre wasn't swayed. "As Ruffati said. We don't need to hold the line, only secure it long enough to make the delivery," he left the seats and went down to the main floor. His armor caught the light beautifully. As he passed Ruffati and Adek, he gave a respectful nod to them. "We will only need two drop-pods. One to land here, near this turret, and one here for the second one," Clersk opened his mouth to speak and Lyre hushed him with a wave of his hand. "I know the drop-pods will get picked out of the sky long before they touch down, and you're right. Which is why," he hit a sequence of runes until an image of Solinoidia as seen from space appeared. "We overcome this orbital defense platform first, and slam it into the hive."

There was a moment of silence followed by loud mocking laughter. "You fool!" Clersk yelled.

"Frackwit!" Luminus echoed. "The entire orbital platform will break apart upon entry and scatter debris...over..." his laughter stopped abruptly when he began to see Lyre's strategy.

Lyre, unphased, turned to Ruffati and Sargent Adek. "It will create a debris field of multiple large airborne targets that will occupy the hives defenses, and give cover to the drop pods. The Imperials will be so focused on falling debris they won't even expect the attack. We gain control of the systems, and engage on a simultaneous attack on the Imperial base. That Sargent, is the best the Aristocrats can offer...unless my kin have any better ideas."

Ruffati chuckled quietly to himself as the other bands in the meeting withdrew any comments.

"Eh, thats two down. Towers one and two...what about the base?" Darren yelled out, finally breaking the silence.

"Oh thats easy," Crasis leaned back in his seat and folded his arms casually. "We need bodies. Infantry, a pair of Thunderhawks, and assault bikes...lots of assault bikes."

* * *

Crasis had never really been one for pleasure dens, but he enjoyed a good drink. The _Crimson_ _Rhapsody _had any number of decent bars to choose from scattered around its decks, but _Cowards_ was his favorite. _Cowards_ was small in comparison to the massive complexes filled with whatever a body could crave. But Crasis had never seen it empty, and the slag melt tables and cobbled together nature of the place brought a kind of roughness and intimacy to the bulkhead and walls. The bar itself carried the bare minimum variety of drinks to be called one, but they were plentiful, and they did the trick.

Crasis had enjoyed a good drink as a youth, long before swearing his oath to the White Scars, and once the enhancements to his body had set in, the craving and desire had passed along with it. Those had been good times, when his mind was clouded only with the purity of purpose, held in check and structured by the traditions of the Chapter. His two hundred or so years in the brotherly embrace of the Imperium were like a dream, a soft haze of battle and brotherhood. It was a comfortable quiet place, easy enough to become lost in, to lead a humble life ending only in death and another name marked down with superficial honors.

He wasn't sure when he had first come to his senses, when he had first began to question the motives of those around and above him. He couldn't pinpoint the moment when the doubts under the surface decided to rear their heads and demand an explanation. He had been stained in the blood of countless foes, he enjoyed battle, and he took pleasure in killing. Why not? Its what he had been selected for, bred and engineered for? Why shouldn't one take pleasure in their work? One by one, his brothers drifted away, already aware of the taint in their midst.

And one day he woke up.

Crasis didn't know if it was a knock to the head, or the guardsmans heart that he had held in his hand. He had been subdued by the Chaplains in his company, humiliated and charged with heresy. Crasis knew there was no trace of chaos in his heart, no demon had corrupted his dreams or clouded his thoughts. Instead there were only questions. He was still the warrior he had been, but now there were questions he wanted answered, questions the Chaplains and Captains and Brothers wouldn't or couldn't answer. And for his damned questions, they had tried to execute him. In that, he had uncovered one mystery, that his brothers had secretly doubted as much as he did, but they would rather live a lie.

Crasis also found out that he had become damnably good at killing. Not combat, not the grace and flow of battle where wits were as necessary as the weapon in his hand or the boots on his feet, but the sudden snap, crunch, twist and gurgle of a close kill. Knowing there would be only death waiting for him when he returned to the White Scars, Crasis set out into the galaxy, at first not knowing what he was seeking, or what force urged him onward, to this day he still didn't know.

He slaughtered his way through battlezones, killing everything that crossed his path. He faced down Astartes, Guardsmen, Ork, Eldar and Tau. Tyranids had been fun. He had used and blunted so many weapons, all in the pursuit of whatever his inner compass had pulled him toward. He knew that his Chapter was on his heels, searching for him, trying to wipe this blight from their memory. And Crasis had learned another truth; when an Astartes fell from grace, they tended to fall hard.

Crasis had just started to add Chaos Marines to his list of battle tokens when he encountered Elision. He had been ripping his way through a line of Orks and Guardsmen, only to come face to face with the grilled visage of the Noise Marine. He still didn't know what Elision had been stimmed out on at the time, but they had fought like demons. Crasis, fueled by his Chapters hatred for the forces of Chaos, and Elision fueled by...whatever.

They had exchanged blows with their chainswords until both weapons broke, then began round after round of hand to hand. Crasis had never fought someone that could keep up with his own erratic movements. They had battled to almost a stalemate, almost. Then Elision had summoned a technique that Crasis had never encountered.

Elision had broken Crasis' guard, and rested his flat open palm on his opponents chest. Crasis remembered hearing a high pitched whine come from Elision's backpack unit, and there was a sudden pulse of sound. The impact of the sound traveled through Crasis' armor, and shattered his rib plate, propelling the White Scar off his feet and through the air. That was what Crasis had been seeking, this sound, this emotion, this _Noise_. Elision had seemed truly surprised that Crasis had survived, broken and defeated, but alive. And from that day forward, he and Elision had been inseparable. First as rivals, then as battle brothers.

It was a damn shame Elision didn't appreciate a good drink.

"Ah, there's his highness!" shouted Darren as Crasis took his customary place at the bar. "I was wondering what you were up to frakker."

"Finishing up with the load instructions for the Thunderhawks. If we keep in with regular training, we should be ready when we arrive at Solinoidia. Brilliant shredding idea Clef had," Crasis ordered a drink.

"Aye. I wish we could get close enough to see the look on the Imperials faces when we land," Darren laughed. He had removed his helm to reveal a pleasant youthful visage. Clef seemed young, Darren seemed even younger. Crasis had learned through his evenings with the Forlorn Hope leader, that they were all as young as he was. They were failed neophytes, or young Space Marines whose chapters or Warbands had fallen. Forlorn Hope had a high turnover. They would run with Darren for a while before enlisting in a larger Warband. They were a band of hive gangers, thugs and escaped prisoners. They were ruthless, they were fearless, and they were effective.

And Crasis adored them.

"Is it true today was that young Aristocrat's first time on an assault bike?" Darren asked.

Crasis remembered Clef attempts to guide his loaned assault bike across the loading bay. Clef learned fast, but he had still rolled the bike twice. "Yes. Never had a chance to teach him before."

"Teach him? Wouldn't the machine tutors have taken care of that?" he referred to the devices many Imperial chapters used to implant lessons and knowledge into the minds of young Space Marines during their training.

"Never used one on him. I don't think Lyre would have it. Everything that boy knows is what he was taught." Crasis cracked his knuckles. He had to admit that he was missing his favorite punching bag, but Clef became a match for him long ago.

"Why is that? Its not expensive. I'm sure our host has a few stations on board that can be used."

Crasis chewed on that thought. It would be quicker to just sit Clef down and plug his mind into a machine tutor, then he remembered something Monody had said. "I think the reason Lyre never pursued it, is in addition to teaching skills, the machines also can mass-produce mistakes."

"Oh?"

"Well, think about it, if the machine spirit was given the wrong information, then it will pass on the wrong information. Likewise it can build a false confidence. Clef is without any preconceptions. He is not influenced by the traditions and dogma as other Space Marines. Imperial or Undivided. Even though his geneseed was of Fulgrims stock, Lyre has never taught Clef to worship or strive to be like him."

"Thats strange. Even the harder Warbands in the Eye have some grip on their heritage."

Crasis shrugged. "Then again, so many Warbands have so many different lines of heritage to chose from. And again, perhaps Lyre no longer cares. If Clef wants to know, he will find out on his own."

Darren and Crasis spent a moment in silence before Darren spoke again. "You know what I've often wondered?"

"Go on."

"All this talk of the 'long war' and the return of the Primarchs, and final battles and all that shred. Is that even what we want anymore? It's all falling apart. Minds are changing. Ruffati, and this ship are evidence of that," Darren looked into his empty glass.

Crasis began to chuckle, then laughed fully. He had asked the same questions of his brothers in the White Scars. Was what they were fighting for even what they wanted anymore? It felt refreshing to hear the same question from the lips of another Space Marine, especially a young one. "I have yet to find the answer to that question myself. I've got the next round."

* * *

Clef felt restless. Nothing seemed to satisfy him. There was food, more food that he had seen in his life, at easy reach in the common room. There was the lure of the many pleasures on the lower decks. There was the thrill and cry of sparring matches held in any number of pit-fighting arenas. Anything he could want, all of it was for the taking. Any drug, any pleasure, any torment, any pain. They were only a ring of the velvet rope away. Yet he felt feverish. Sick and tormented in a way that defied words. Even the touch of Forsworn, who would cause all tensions and concerns to ease, wasn't helping his state of mind.

Clef had more energy that he had ever known he could have. His hearing had heightened to an almost intolerable level. From three rooms away and through several walls he could hear Sonata breathe. He could hear her heart pound thickly in her chest, even the digestion of food in her gut. He was anxious. No amount of focus or meditation could ease the odd ache in his bones nor settle his mind. His thoughts raced, turning and becoming other things, other concepts, other observations.

Sonata had returned the day before, carried in by Elision and Fret and set to rest in her room with two hand maids to watch over her. They giggled and spoke in hushed whispers. Clef could hear it all. Every click of the tongue, every subtle shift of their throats as they swallowed. Even worse he could hear the warp scraping and pounding the outer shields of the _Crimson Rhapsody_. It clanged and sang, chirped and screamed. He could see the wraiths in his mind churn and turn themselves inside out or split and merge again to form new strange concepts and daydreams. Coupled with the gurgle and growl of the hand maids in the next room, their hearts beating out of time with each other, they caused abstract landscapes to form and fade in Clefs already overactive mind.

But Clef didn't fear the images, didn't reach into his thoughts seeking some strange thing to guide him to immortality. Instead they only annoyed him. Drunk. That was what this was like. Drunk and knowing that any moment now he would puke. But that relief never came. No sweet purge of the poison in his system in favor of recovery and sleep. Instead he gagged on his thoughts and swallowed the sounds of wounds healing three rooms over.

And Forsworn had stopped talking to him.

Not that she ever really spoke per say. More like subtle suggestions and stray thoughts that would cross his mind. But her will had become more easily dismissed, and in turn Clef grew more restless. He rested his fingers on her strings. Three rooms over Sonata rolled over in her bed, the sound of the fine sheets drawing over her skin caused Clef to growl in frustration. He could feel the venom from the glands in his mouth coat his teeth and collect on his tongue. Unknown to him, he snarled. Feral and dangerous.

Three rooms over. Two hand maids, one recovering Warsinger. The hand maids wouldn't satisfy. They would be like tearing apart pillows, filled with fluff and promises, existing only to make a mess. But Sonata...he could already taste her. The pounding of her heart, veins swelling as he wrapped his hands around her neck. Would the demon in her throat fight him? Or would it yield to a larger predator? The Warsinger was rich and bold compared to those handmaids. She would scream, and she would struggle, oh she would put up such a fight! Her long legs kicking the sheets and blankets aside, face slowly growing as purple and vibrant as her hair. And her soul...oh her soul would wash all of this away. It was exactly what he needed to gain a moment of clarity that he craved. Just one small nibble, just a tiny draw, a sample. He could make it quick...

Clef suddenly came to his senses when he felt his hand rest on the brass handle of the door to Sonata's room.

"Step away boy," Lyre said softly. He held a bolter leveled at Clefs head.

The bloodlust faded fast, withdrawing back into the deep of his mind like some deep ocean creature. He hadn't even known Lyre had returned, let alone come close enough to draw a weapon. Clef let go of the door handle and raised his hands, then stepped back.

"Keep going," Lyre gave a slight twitch of his wrist, gesturing with the bolter back toward the common room.

Hands still raised, Clef retreated back to the fainting couch he had claimed as his own. Lyre lowered the bolter, then sat down opposite Clef. Clef rested Forsworn in his lap.

"Whats the first rule Clef?" Lyre asked.

"Bandmates are not food..."

Lyre nodded. "When was the last time Forsworn had enjoyed a kill?"

"Three days ago," Clef answered automatically.

"Too long ago," Lyre stood. "Go to the lower holds, and find a worthy offering for your mistress."

"I would have, but I didn't wish to anger our host."

Lyre snarled. "So you mean to tell me that Ruffati is more important than the well being of the one who holds your soul?"

For the first time Clef felt a sharp sting from Forsworn. He felt it travel down his spine and settle in his gut. It was such a displeased sensation, one he never wanted to feel again.

"Go. Hunt. Do not worry about Ruffati. Its a big ship, and people die every day."

And just like that, he was loose. Clef didn't know that he had been waiting for a signal to move. His senses came alive again. Yes. Hunt. The thought brought a smile to his lips. Sonata, tempting as she may be,

_bandmates are not food_

was still weak, and would not provide the satisfaction of a hunt. Clef quickly donned his light carapace armor. He still needed to acquire a proper suit. His senses and mind sharpening, Clef passed through the front door and headed for the nearest transport that would take him to the lower halls.

* * *

Every sound, every taste, every flicker of light that came to him told a story. He passed warriors of many different Warbands, smelling their auras of power, each one more tempting than the last. Yet like him, they were also predators, and he was not yet strong enough to feed them to Forsworn. Instead he tracked easy prey. Just something to take the edge off Forsworns hunger.

Clef found what he needed in two crew members of the _Crimson Rhapsody_. They were strong men, more than likely guards of some kind, and they wore their purple and white uniforms well. He tracked them through the larger boulevards and commerce areas of the ship, then followed them into a dimly-lit maintenance tunnel. They didn't seem to notice him. Either because they were that confident or Clef had managed to tune his senses enough to increase his stealth. Their deaths would be quick, and probably messy.

Clef drew Forsworn to his side and rested his fingers over her strings. They trembled under his touch in anticipation, at this point, anything would satisfy her. He drew his hand back, and prepared to strike a chord.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Clef ducked back into a shadow and searched for the source of the voice. He looked upward and saw a figure sitting amidst the tangle of piping and duct work. The two guards had ducked out of another hatch. "I suppose you're willing to take their place?" he hissed.

"Just trying to stop you from making a big mistake. Master Ruffati is generous with his guests, but he's very protective of his crew," the figure in the pipes jumped down. He was a Space Marine, wearing the colors and heraldry of the Night Lords. He had a sharp nose and thin lips. Long black hair hung loosely, framing his porcelain white face. "Aristocrat or not. He would have you punished severely."

Clef was tempted to try his luck with the Night Lord, but Forsworn remained more curious than wanting for the moment. "So you know of the Aristocrats?"

"Who doesn't by now?" the Night Lord replied with a smile. "My name is Zither, and you?"

"Clef," he noticed a guitar-like sonic blaster at Zithers side. "Are you a Soul Slave?"

Zither shook his head. "No. Not yet," he held his weapon out before him. It looked like the others that Clef had seen with one variation. It had no strings. "I have not yet been bonded to my weapon. I have not been able to find someone who can perform the ritual."

Clef still had clear memories of his own bonding ceremony. They became clearer the more he thought about them. He had never met another Soul Slave before, and certainly never anyone that wanted to be one. There were plenty of Space Marines out there that would sign contracts with demons to gain power, but Soul Slaves were a breed set apart. Lyre mentioned that he had met other Soul Slaves in the past, and that Red Widow became even harder to handle around them. If one Soul Slave killed another, then the victor gained the losers harvest of souls. For that reason Soul Slaves avoided each other, with some exceptions.

But Forsworn was quiet, thoughtful almost. "I wish you best of luck finding someone to perform the ritual," Clef said, attempting to make this conversation short so he could continue hunting.

"Oh I've already found someone. Ruffati has agreed to help me. For a price of course," Zither fell into step next to Clef. Clef didn't argue. At least he was on the move again, and Zither may have knowledge that he could use. Zither was so far the only Space Marine outside of the Aristocrats that he had spoken to. Well, there was Brak, but he wasn't someone that he could rely on. Zither was different, Clef was willing to bet that they were close in age as well. That brought up another question.

"What were you doing up there?"

Zither chuckled. "The security detail suspected they were being followed, so I requested they make a detour by my location. I don't have a band to run with, but I do enjoy Rufatti's company now and then. I don't wish to bite the hand that feeds."

"I should have suspected. I still need to find an offering for my mistress," Clef opened a hatch and stepped into another commerce level.

"Then why not a pit fight?" Zither suggested. "There are many fights that are billed as to the death. Provide a spectacle and a good show in the ring, and the organizers will reward you well."

The thought had crossed Clefs mind, but he didn't have the money, nor armor necessary for intense combat. Killing that frakker in terminator armor had been a lucky strike. Now he regretted that he didn't keep the armor. Going against someone in the ring that was skilled in hand to hand would only get him killed. "I don't have an entry fee."

"I can cover that for you," Zither said smoothly.

"And in return?" Clef asked expectantly.

"In return...I would like you to introduce me to your band leader, Lyre. He is the one that performed your ritual, correct?"

Clef paused for a moment. Lyre didn't receive guests. At least not any Clef had seen him with, and he doubted that Lyre would be willing to conduct the ritual for anyone else considering the torment he went through the last time. "You know there is a good chance he will kill you," Clef said, hoping Zither would lose interest.

Zither smiled, sinister and playful, his black eyes catching the light. "I'm as good as dead either way."

* * *

The pit fighting ring was what Clef had come to expect of the _Crimson Rhapsody_. A roughly circular arena about seven meters in diameter, with high adamantium walls. Participants dropped in from the stands and were hauled out the same way. When Clef and Zither arrived, a large guardsman was fighting hand to hand with an ogryn. The gathered crowd roared with each heavy smack of flesh on flesh. As Zither paid Clefs entry fee, there was a hearty crack of bone and an arterial spray drenched the stands. The ogryn roared victoriously. Credits and coin changed hands, and then a bidding war began for the still warm corpse of the guardsman.

"The blaster is not allowed in the pit!" one of the officiants called out to Clef.

"This weapon doesn't leave my side," Clef countered.

The officiant suddenly paused, his attention diverted to his earbead, then said. "You've received clearance. You may carry it with you, but are not permitted to use it. If I hear one note from that weapon, you are disqualified," he gestured to the overarching rafters above them. Several servitors sat behind heavy bolters, covering the ring.

"Noted," Clef nodded.

The ogryn paced around the perimeter of the pit, bellowing challenges to the stands. A few of the contenders backed away, not wishing to be the next to fight that pillar of meat and bone. Clef tightened Forsworn's shoulder strap, feeling her weight snug against his back. She was excited, and already measuring up the ogryn like some exotic treat.

"So its all right if I kill him?" Clef asked.

"Thats the point of this fight," Zither answered, his ever-present grin pulling his lips tight.

Clef grabbed the top edge of the pit wall, then with his own challenging howl, swung his legs over smoothly, dropping down to the rockcrete floor. The ogryn turned, and with a territorial roar, dropped one shoulder and tackled Clef.

Clef barely had time to gain his footing before the ogryn slammed him into the wall, but the brute didn't stop there. It wrapped one meaty hand around Clefs throat and began to drag him along the wall. Forsworn spit and sparked on Clefs back as she ground against the rough surface. Ogryns were not the brightest mutants in the galaxy, orks could outsmart them, but what they lacked in intelligence they made up for in raw strength and tenacious durability. The ogryn let go, tossing Clef carelessly across the pit and into the opposite wall.

This time when the ogryn charged, Clef was ready for him. Clef side-stepped while also aiming a kick for the back of the ogryns knee, as Crasis had taught him. The ogryn stumbled and slammed into the wall hard. The crowd cheered while more money swapped hands as bets were made and odds were tallied. Clef knew that in a match of sheer strength, the ogryn would have him. But Crasis had taught him to fight dirty, and he was an Aristocrat. There was more riding on this match than a soul for his mistress. The honor and reputation of his band was also on the line.

The ogryn came again, this time not charging like a raging grox, but stepping in more carefully, long heavy arms swinging before him seeking either a strike or grab. Clef backed away and side-stepped, but there was no where to go in the circular pit. Instead Clef lured the orgyn in closer, just outside the range of those clawed fingers, then dropped to the ground and rolled, coming to stand at the ogryns back. Before the ogryn could turn to face him, Clef jumped up on that hunched back, his legs hooked tight on the mutants hips. He reached around and grabbed the ogryns face, then using all the strength he could muster, pushed his fingers deep into the creatures eye socket. The ogryn screamed, backed up, and slammed Clef into the pit wall.

The crowd hollered and shouted as Clef and Forsworn met the wall again and again. Clef held onto the ogryns eye socket for dear life, until a jab of pain from his mistress made him let go. Clef dropped to the ground while the ogryn slammed backward into the wall, one hand reaching up to hold what was left of its eye, the other searching for Clef. Clef took this chance to grab the Ogryns other arm, one hand wrapped tightly around the wrist while he brought the other up, punching the mutants elbow dead-on, popping the joint and causing its arm to bend back in the wrong direction.

Clef had gained control of the battle now. The ogryn screamed and attempted to scramble away. Still holding onto the creatures wrist, Clef twisted it, bringing the mutant to its knees. Once there, Clef took the risk and kicked high, landing a blow on the ogryns face. Its nose exploded in a shower of red. It reached out with its good hand, attempting to grab and pull Clef in closer. Clef circled around calmly to the ogryns side, delivering another kick to the mass of tumors that would shield the mutant's kidneys.

_Give them a show._

The ogryn fell forward, catching itself on its good arm. Clef delivered another kick, this time in the beasts weak side. It wasn't dead, and given time it would recover, but it was weak, which was enough. Clef loosened Forsworn's strap, and brought her around before him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the officiant rush to the side of the pit.

"My mistress!" Clef shouted, his voice carrying. "Accept this offering!"

The ogryn struggled, confused. Zither watched as the mutant seemed to blur, as if the edges of it's form were slipping out of reality. The crowd grew quiet, watching in stunned silence as before their eyes, the ogryn's soul was pulled from its body. For a moment its ghostly form hovered before Clef, fear and confusion shifting and blurring over it's now transparent features. Then with a quick grabbing motion, Clef and the ogryn exploded in blue-white light. The crowd that had gathered at the edges of the pit were blown back from their seats at the sudden release of power. Clef drank in this new rush, relished in Forsworn's satisfaction.

Then as suddenly as the rush had started, it faded, leaving only a faint white mist in the air and a mutant on the ground. For a moment its heart beat feebly, then the last breath left its lungs, like a vehicle with no rider, leaving only a mass of meat behind.

Silence. Clef returned Forsworn to his side, tilted his head back and howled his victory to the rafters. Some of the gathered crowd joined him, others remained quiet and dumbfounded, their minds

unable to comprehend what they had witnessed; a Soul Slave feeding.

As Clef searched the faces at the edge of the pit for his next challenge, now that he had raised the stakes sufficiently. Not only was there money on the line, but the contenders soul. He noted that Zither no longer wore his playful grin. In its place was hard determination, and even a flicker of fear in his new friends dark eyes.

New bets were made, more money and credits changed hands, and Clef began to wonder just how much of the purse he would be able to claim for himself. He studied the stands in an attempt to identify his next opponent, yet so far no one came forward. There were many whispers and cautious glances his way. Forsworn's appetite had been whetted and his mistress desired more. Finally the crowds parted and a single Space Marine came forward.

His armor was deep orange in color with yellow flames painted on his right leg. Brass icons of Chaos decorated his chestplate. On his left pauldron was a sphere engulfed in fire. Clef took note, this would be his first encounter with a member of Worlds Aflame. "And what is this?" the Space Marine spoke. "A contract? Weak and unescorted?"

"You should know not to speak so poorly of your betters," Clef responded. "Will you be the next soul to be brought before my mistress? Granted its a dim one, with little variation or even integrity, but it will do until I can find one stronger."

The member of Worlds Aflame gripped the guardrail and leaned in. "Little Slave, perhaps we should sweeten this battle with a small wager. When I win, your weapon becomes mine, and your demonic mistress will become my plaything."

Clef nodded. "And when I win, not only does my mistress claim your soul, but I get your armor."

The crowds grew silent again, save for credits and coin now being shuffled the other way. Armor could be bought or sold. But was rarely ever put down as a wager. In most cases the armor was worth more than the scrap of meat in it. The Space Marine looked Clef over, standing defiant, almost comical in his repaired carapace armor. Zither stood up straighter as his gaze settled on him. "Very well, as Ruffati's little pawn here can bear witness," he grabbed the railing, then casually jumped over, landing easily with knees only slightly bent.

A bell sounded, signaling the beginning of the match and the crowds began shouting once more. Clef and the Worlds Aflame band member circled each other in the ring, looking for faults in the others guard. "Whats the matter boy? Afraid to attack?"

"No, just trying to figure out the best way to kill you that won't damage my armor," Clef said with a grim smile. Anyone else would have been at a disadvantage when facing a Space Marine in full armor, but no one else had Crasis as a teacher. Clef felt confident enough that he could withstand one, maybe two punches before he could no longer move, of course it mattered greatly where those punches were aimed. He had to incapacitate the armor, then slay the squishy thing inside. With Forsworn as his only weapon, one the he wasn't allowed to use, that was going to get hard.

Wait, Forsworn was not his only weapon.

Finally Clefs opponent went in for a grab, and Clef met him, bracing himself and knocking his arm away with a grunt of exertion. Quicker than even Clefs eye could register, his opponents other hand rose and grabbed the back of his neck, then twisted sharply. Clef felt a snap in the base of his neck, then his body grew numb.

"You are young and stupid, Aristocrat. But you are not the first to have underestimated your opponent. I'll be sure to tell your band how you died in one breath," he dropped Clef and raised his arms in victory. As soon as Clef hit the ground, a sensation overcame him that he had never before known.

He could feel Forsworn behind him, not as an entity, but as a person, with real weight and even a scent. He felt her hands touch his neck, her fingers parted his skin, gently aligning his bones once more with a surge of energy. With her work done, she then bid her servant to rise. With a chuckle, then full laughter, he pulled himself to his feet. "Tell me again who has underestimated whom?" his neck was still at a strange angle. Clef lifted his hand and snapped it back in place, crying out at the brief surge of pain then endorphins that followed.

The Worlds Aflame band member seemed startled.

"Forsworn has chosen her champion. You will have to try much harder to earn her affection," Clef advanced, drawing his arm back for either a punch or grab, he hadn't decided yet. His opponent sidestepped, then delivered a kick to Clef's side, snapping ribs and altering the alignment of his spine. Once again Forsworn calmly went to work on her Slave. Clef took this opportunity to reach around and grab one of the power cables on the Space Marine's backpack unit. With a sharp tug and jerk, enhanced by Forsworns demonic strength, he snapped the cable in two and the left side of the Noise Marines armor lost power.

For this, Clef was awarded a kick from the right that caused him to double over, before rising again with another euphoric burst from his mistress. He was her puppet. It didn't matter how many times he became hurt, she would just patch him up then send him back to go claim that soul. What was first endearing was now sadistic. Clef had one of two choices, either end this fight quickly, or continue to endure round after round of punishment.

"I will admit you're a fun toy," the Space Marine grabbed Clef by the hair and drew his arm back. "Lets see you recover from losing your head."

Clef only smiled, now that he was in range to use his emergency weapon. He opened his mouth and began to scream. His Warp Scream had never been so powerful before, touched by Forsworns energy and his own frustration. The Space Marine immediately let go of Clef, then reached up and grabbed his head. Clef stood and increased the pitch of his Scream and did not stop until he saw blood begin to seep from the grill of the helmet.

"You...?"

"My bandmates always said that I have a big mouth," Clef removed his opponents helmet, then stomped down on his exposed head. "And I didn't even damage the armor one bit," as his foot came down he felt Forsworn reach out and claim the soul of the Worlds Aflame band member. What followed was a rush that was even more intense than the others that Clef had experienced. He moaned and closed his eyes as the power rushed through him. Space Marines were the best. The Iron Warrior terminator had been sick and flawed, the ogryn had been filling but misshapen. But this, this was more potent than the purest drug, more intoxicating than any drink, and more sensual than any woman he could have shared his bed with.

And all too quickly it passed, leaving Clef shaking and wanting more.

Credit and coin changed hands and once more Clef shouted his challenge to the crowd.

* * *

"Sonata? Sonata you okay?"

Sonata groaned and rolled over in bed. "Fret?"

"Hey Sonata. Sorry to wake you up. You've been asleep for nearly twenty four hours. I think you need to get up and move around a bit."

"Hmm?" she sat up in bed. "I've been so tired lately," she yawned. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," Fret dismissed the handmaids and held out a robe for Sonata to take. "You're feeling tired because the Larramans gland is pumping more cells through your system, thickening your blood just a little. Its making your heart work harder, making your muscles and veins work a bit harder to compensate. You need to get up and move around so your body can adapt."

Sonata swung her legs off the side of her bed and accepted the robe from Fret. "I only have the Larramans gland and I feel like crap. How the heck do the Space Marines do it?"

Fret looked her over. "Well for one they snag them when they're young, and then put them through a lot of rigorous training to adapt to their implants. You don't have that luxury."

"Backwards and in heels."

"Hmm?"

"Nothing," Sonata pulled the robe on, then walked around her room. "I feel...tighter."

"Thats the Black Carapace. As you exercise it will loosen," Fret watched her walk, scrutinizing her movements for any flaws or hiccups that would indicate a complication. "Oh, speaking of, I finally finished modifying and recalibrating your armor. I need to get you downstairs to see if your new subdermal implants are worth what we paid. But in the meantime, hungry?"

"I'm starving," she answered with a smile. Pulling her robe tighter, she stepped out into the hall in bare feet, and approached the tables that had been loaded down with fresh food earlier that day. She was as excited as Fret to see how her armor functioned now. Crasis and Elision were sparring in the common room. Lyre was seated in the corner reading a book. He glanced up and acknowledged her. Sonata loaded up a plate of food and sat down on what she had claimed as "her" lounge.

The front door opened and Clef stumbled into the hall, dragging a heavy sack behind him, laughing loudly and making a racket. Crasis called out. "You're in a good mood."

Clef was beyond a "good mood", he was energetic, riding some high or another, and aside from his burden, he wasn't alone. Crasis and Elision paused in their sparring to gauge the young Space Marine Clef had brought with him. Zither hung back by the door, knowing that intruding on another Warbands living space was a good way to get killed.

Sonata remained in place on her lounge while Lyre rose, setting his book aside. Clef stood beside Zither, his high spirits not affected in the least. "Lyre, this is Zither. I met him in the lower levels. He helped me find suitable offerings for Forsworn, and helped me..uh..._acquire_ a decent set of armor."

Lyre didn't seem set at ease. Clef had lost almost all restraint. Those souls must have been powerful ones indeed to provide that kind of high. He moved with slight limp.

Zither nodded, then bowed nervously, yet respectfully to Lyre "Please pardon my intrusion."

"Now I think I've seen everything. A Night Lord Noise Marine," Crasis mumbled.

"Not quite yet," Zither said quickly.

Clef laughed again. "Ease up Lyre. He paid my entry fee to a pit fight. All he wanted in return was to meet you."

Lyre remained quiet, scrutinizing the young Night Lord.

"I told you he wouldn't be interested," Clef chuckled. "Grumpy as ever."

"Clef," Monody said sternly, emerging from his room. "Mind your tongue. Go, gather your wits."

Clef chuckled to himself and shouldering the large sack slipped past Lyre to the common room and then through the hidden door to Frets workshop. Lyre glared as he passed, then addressed Zither. "For good or ill, you have my full attention. Monody, take his weapons. Follow me boy," he turned and went back to the common room. He sat back down and gestured to a seat for Zither. Crasis and Elision stood, watching the new arrival for any sign of hostility. "Speak."

"I..." Zither regarded Monody curiously, and surrendered his weapons. He then straightened himself and bowed again to Lyre. "I have come to ask for your assistance," he removed a strap from his shoulder, then brought around a heavy case. Zither knelt reverently and opened it. Inside the case was a Sonic Blaster, in stunning midnight blue with a black neck. "I wish to become bonded to my weapon. But I have not found anyone that can perform the ritual. I know that you had performed Clefs ritual. I am willing to pay you well."

Lyre gazed at the weapon in the case. More importantly, Red Widow was examining the weapon, and the soul contained within. Using Lyre's body she leaned forward and picked up the Blaster. "No strings," Lyre said. "And there is no demon in this weapon. It is..." his head tilted a bit to the side, almost as if he were nodding off. "A Space Marine. Contained in this weapon."

"My master. Sargent Limis of the 5th company."

Lyre set the Blaster back in the case. "And you wish to become a Soul Slave? Why?"

Zither closed the case again. "These weapons are cursed. I was chosen to bear it. I have been exiled from my brethren because of this curse. The Blaster's care or destruction is on my shoulders alone. I chose to honor my Sargents last wish, to help him ascend to true deamonhood. To do that, I need to become bonded to the weapon."

Lyre shook his head. "That is not an easy task. I would not wish the curse of a Soul Slave on anyone. That you are so willing to throw yourself into servitude tells me that you don't fully understand the consequences of this decision," he sighed. Part of him should have suspected something like this would happen. There was much power out there for the taking, but proper channels and rituals had to be observed. If Lyre had been so motivated, he could make a decent living off the few rituals he knew how to perform. "In any case you need strings first. Not just any strings. You will need to gather the materials yourself, and construct them yourself. Each one must be symbolic of the task you wish for it accomplish."

Zither listened, absorbing everything Lyre said. "That is fitting, considering this weapon will be my home too once I help my master achieve his goal."

That remark was a simple one, misguided at best, yet it stuck in Lyre's mind like a well-aimed dart. The more he tried to find the cause for his concern, the more Red Widow would begin opening and closing doors on his different methods of thought, but he had grown wise to her diversionary tactics long ago.

Sonata spoke up at that. "Your home?"

Zither nodded. "Once my master has obtained deamonhood, his soul will leave the Blaster, and will be replaced by mine. This Blaster will then become my body. Just as my master had done for his master, and his master for his master."

Lyre hadn't been expecting that revelation. The Night Lords had a tradition of Soul Slaves? Or just this one? Red became more frantic the more he pursued the thought. Sonata voiced the question before Lyre could. "Does that go for all Soul Slaves? When you hit the one million mark, the demon in the weapon is freed and the Slave becomes imprisoned in the weapon?"

"Yes," Zither seemed a little surprised. "That is both the curse and blessing of the Soul Slave."

Lyre felt as if he had been immersed in cold water. _Is this true Red?_

For once, Red Widow had nothing to say.

_Is this true Red? ANSWER ME BITCH._

Her mocking laughter ran over his frayed sanity like shards of glass. This is what she had been trying to hide. He could feel the truth in Zithers words, echoed by Red Widows frantic attempts to distract him.

Lyre stood, and crossed the room. His mind unable to accept what he had just heard. All of this time? All of his dreams of freedom, for nothing? All of the dying screams of those he had killed, all of the brothers betrayed and lost along the way, for nothing? That one hope, that one vain aspiration, to finally be free of this curse, was a lie. The chains were gone, but his soul would never be his own.

Red Widow continued to laugh. This was her punchline. Delivered sooner than she had anticipated, but the reaction was more or less what she had always thought it would be. She would be free. And Lyre, he would then become imprisoned in the Blaster until someone came along, gullible enough and strong enough to kill one million souls to buy his deamonhood.

Lyre shuffled, stumbling almost between Crasis and Elision. Crasis moved to catch him, but Lyre waved him away. He stopped halfway up the hall, Red Widow still cackling madly in his mind. He turned and looked into Clefs room, where Clef now sat with Forsworn on his lap, meditating to gain control of his energy and heal his wounds.

_I cursed him,_ Lyre realized with growing dread. _I should have killed him, I should have let him die._

Zither stood at the end of the hall, waiting for Lyre to return. "Will you help me?" he asked.

Lyre turned, pure shock and horror written on his features. "No. No, find someone else to broker the deal for your soul," he reached out and opened the front door. Without another word, he stepped into the hall, closing the door softly behind him.

* * *

Fret put the last few finishing touches on Clefs armor. It was Mark VII in remarkably good condition. "How did you say you came across this again?"

"I won it," Clef sat on the bench, watching Fret work. "The former bearer's soul was quite energizing as well."

"Its a good make. Newer than what most of the band has, with a fairly willing machine spirit," Fret used a small brush to clear some of the dust that had settled on the pauldron. Per Lyre's request, the left pauldron was painted with the icon and colors of the Aristocrats, a golden coronet on a field of blue and maroon harlequin diamonds. The edges of the diamonds had been traced in twists of silver wire with studs placed at the intersections. The design mirrored Lyre's armor. Where Lyre had the Aristocrats icon on his right pauldron, Clef had his on the left. Likewise the chains and flair that Lyre had accumulated over the years were echoed on Clefs armor, only on the opposite side...just like Cornet.

When they stood side by side, Lyre and Clef now recreated the image of the twin demons that Lyre and Cornet had been. Red Widow and Forsworn could hunt as one again, and the Aristocrats had their signature duo of Soul Slaves back. Clef mirrored Lyre in every way save for one. Where Lyre had a full and high mohawk of hair and feathers on the crest of his helm, Clef had a much shorter and tighter cockscomb. Clef lifted his new helmet into the light and commented on this one alteration.

Fret smirked. "You'll get more fluff as you get older and more experienced. The height of the crests are kinda like a ranking system. You're gonna be the 'boy' for a while yet."

Clef found that answer to his liking. He did admire Lyre and what little he remembered of Cornet had influenced him greatly, but he refused to be limited by those memories. Just this bit of diversity was enough for him.

Fret cleaned up his workbench, then glanced over at Clef who was still looking his helm in the face. "Good luck with your debut in Bearing Hive. It's your first outing as a Soul Slave of the Aristocrats. Make us proud kid."


End file.
